Knights of Cydonia
by Sgt Shoultz
Summary: ONI sends the Infinity-class warship Cydonia to Requiem to find something that has caught their eyes. Buried deep within may hold the key of one of the secrets of the Forerunners. What may lie ahead might put Humanity on the galatic stage-quite literally-on a nerving obstacle for any species: War. On the horizon of Reclamation, Humanity may have to prove itself yet again...
1. Prologue

**A.N: Yea this is a complete reboot (and a major ****_major_**** overhaul) of my story with the same name that I have deleted. It never got past the writing (boot camp part), and the plot seemed 'eh' that I just said, "Whatever." Long story short, Shepard will have a background but not in flashbacks, a better plot, and (maybe) tons of fight scenes. Anyways, enough babbling.**

**Update: Fixed some late grammatical errors, no biggie.**

**Update 2 (7/2/13): Removed the "(Ver2)" from the title simply bc it's unneeded right now, and changed the cover. Credit is in my profile bio. **

* * *

_**Prologue **_

**2600.22.8, 0700 hours, Military Standard Time. UNSC ****_Cydonia_****, Hanger Bay 31A. Orbiting above the continent of Europe, Earth.**

Shepard groaned and planted her head on her arms that were on the walkway rails. She leaned back up letting her hand rake through her mid-short velvet red hair.

_One late pelican out of four others—what the hell? _

The other dozen Spartans who arrived in time were greeted by Commander Osuna.

The man in armor, marble white and streaked by blood-red decals, pretentiously marched back and forth in front of the newcomers. Osuna is around average for a Spartan's height, about two and half meters tall. His trimmed umber hair looked flawless as usual. He keeps his five o'clock shadow every time and shaves it down to keep it that way. He carried his helmet under the right arm. Its golden visor showed the reflection of anyone who looked at it like a polished mirror.

Unfortunately, they all stood attention for the last half hour listening to his lecture. A lecture, so to speak, of a battle he gladly boasted to then gave his set of rules as if his words are the Ten Commandments, which everyone would be expected to follow and kiss his ass. When he was done, everyone took a breath of relief. Some even flipped him off behind his back and mouthing, "Fuck you!" and proceeded to the S-deck.

Shepard just watched them walk under the walkway she was on. She even smiled and waved to them. Now to wait for the late pelican—speak of the devil, here they are now.

The occupants were lucky being late. Twenty minutes late.

Shepard readied herself and fast-walked to the staircase at the end of the walkway and took a quick glance of the descending pelican as she set foot on the hangar. The pelican slowly landed when its landing wheel finally touched the ground. The cargo bay door opened. Four individuals—three men and woman—came out and formed a line as they cleared away from the pelican. They were in their under-suits as usual.

One stepped out of line and approached Shepard. His hands were behind him and his head lowered a bit, all serious and humorless. Shepard noticed this and examined him quickly. Short chestnut colored hair, mussed and waxed, and hazel eyes with marvelous reflection from the light way above. He looked leaner than the other two men.

His sedated face quickly turned to that of joyous child in a flash. "Petty Officer Second Class Daniel Bristle," his English accent introduced himself. He smiled and stuck his hand forward.

Shepard returned the gesture as he continued speaking, "This is Fireteam Rubecon. I heard we are getting someone else to our team. Do you know who he or she is?" He gave quizzical look that looked humorous on purpose.

"Yes, that would be me. Lieutenant Victoria Shepard," she sternly answered.

Bristle quickly fell back in line. His face returned to its previous look that said officer on deck. All four saluted.

Shepard gazed at all four of them with a mean poker face, just to let them shit in their pants for the hell of it. "At ease."

"Fire-team Rubicon, welcome to your new home, the UNSC _Cydonia_," she continues. "Commander Osuna leads all the Spartan fire teams on this ship. Word to the wise: it is of utmost importance not to piss him off when we get to S-deck. He will fuck you in the ass and make you his bitch until he finds another one, got it?"

They complied.

Shepard laughed wickedly in her mind.

Shepard ordered them to follow a moment later. Before they even got past five feet, George, the ship's AI, materialized on the holo pedestal. The AI wore the uniform of the famous General George Washington during the American Revolution: a three-pointed black hat with a white outline, a blue wool coat over a worn yellow-like waistcoat and breeches with black boots. Of course, he would bring his cape along like it's an accessory.

"Lieutenant," George greeted as he bowed slightly. Even for most A.I.s like George, his voice is mildly attractive-very calm and suave.

"Rear Admiral Hackett wants to see you and your team on the bridge."

Shepard asked in confusion. "Why does he need me? What about the commander?"

He paused for a moment and then answered, "The captain...feels that someone can take things seriously, someone who he can trust, along with some other reasons, should lead this mission. Should you choose to accept, please head to the bridge. Ma'am." He bowed one last time and dematerialized.

Shepard turned her attention back to the team.

"Change of plans," she announced sternly, "We're gonna see the skipper, see the taxpayer's money at work!"

With a wave of a hand, the five of them walked patiently across the hangar bay with ease as there weren't many workers at this time of hour. Shepard pressed a button to call the tram.

For a ship of this size at 8.5 kilometers long, there were hundreds of trams that run throughout the ship. Each tram is has its own line, much like a trolley, with specific destinations. This line, for example, runs alongside all the hangar bays on deck 31. Since there are so many crews on this ship, each tram has its own destination time in sections of the ship. The captain or any high-ranking member has full priority on a transit station if they choose to have.

The tram door opened. The women sat on one side and the men on the other except one. He stood hunching his head under the tram ceiling like a stern crooked tree.

Jakob Puskas. His rugged face had the words 'Don't mess with me…at all," and emotionally stoic. His hair covered the head like a carpet. The short beard flowed alongside his jaw and surrounded the mouth effortlessly. His eyes are shadowed from the light but Shepard caught a glance as he looked up for a short period—green as a leaf on the first day of spring.

The other guy sitting next to Bristle in the middle is Monty Hokaritakai. His trimmed jet-black hair neatly parted to the right of the face. Crescent eyes were dark like the night sky as he looked down, his arms rested on the lap and hands loosely coupled.

They were all silent during the short ride.

The tram slowed to a stop. They all got up and waited in front of the door, which it and the express door in front of it opened. Shepard was the first to step into the hallway, met by lingering crew members walking past by.

The two individuals leaned against the wall across from the Spartans. The marines quickly glanced at them, especially Jakob, before returning to their conversation. They were outfitted with standard armor and weapons, the MA8-5 and the Phalanx Hand Cannon.

Shepard led the team to the left in the hallway. At the end of the hall, she took another left for a dozen meters before taking a right. At another fifteen meters, they approached a geometric arch with an electronic display reading "BRIDGE" and another pair of guards, one on each side, with their MA8-5 assault rifles at arms. They saluted.

With one final turn to the right, the bridge came in to view. There was only a skeleton crew at this time of hour.

The holotable was at the middle, surrounded by two counter-like islands operated by two crew members. It displayed George and the ship itself; next to its side was the captain himself, Steven Hackett, and the Executive Officer, David Anderson, who left the captain's side to the bow as he saw the lieutenant.

Everyone in the UNSC knows who Hackett is. Twenty years ago, he and his 21st Battlegroup managed to completely cripple the last remaining Storm forces in their system. The battlegroup laid siege for three days as reinforcements arrived and dominated the planet. Casualties were minimal for the battlegroup. The Battle of Trufulgar—the name of the planet—was the pivotal moment of a heavily decisive victory against the Storm for the last time in the Requiem campaign.

Sometime after the battle, HIGHCOM offered him a promotion. HIGHCOM also offered, rather than by choosing, Hackett to command the then still-under-construction Infinity-class warship and to name it himself, as his military prowess proved he could command such a vessel. He too accepted, and named the ship after the city he grew up in.

Hackett turned his attention to us, his hands firmly behind his lower back. "Lieutenant," he called.

Shepard saluted. "Rear Admiral, sir."

He returned the salute. "At ease." Hackett motioned us to the holotable.

The newer version of the holotable itself is a remarkable thing (not the only object that's remarkable). In the hands of a good, or a great tactician, this piece of equipment is important as its effectiveness can turn the tide of a battle. It is placed on every military vessel, base, and even inside a high-ranking official's office, including the president of the UEG.

It renders anything, living or not, before the person's eyes as an exact replica. Of course, it needs data like anything else would need.

For starters, send an aircraft to do recon of the terrain and its scanners will do almost anything and everything possible: the exact sea-level and altitude in certain geographical areas, how rough the ground is for vehicles, etc.

It is the state-of-the-art tactical map, for planning and/or real-time intel for the ground units.

Hackett touched a key on the projector and a lengthy grid of sharpened hills, cliffs, and a small structure marked by a gold diamond above it came into view. Everything else was pale blue except the painted white-structure.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept lieutenant, is to eliminate Promethean forces, infiltrate the structure and gather information as to why the Prometheans are doing an encore in Requiem."

That got the clocks running in the Spartan's mind. Prometheans dropped off the grid a bit before Hackett drove Storm forces from the shield world. Without the Didact's forces, Storm infantry would whittle fight by fight on the ground, soon unable to hold strategic defenses. To make reappearance, that would mean trouble big-time.

"Force Recon's assessment is as follows: Promethean forces in the AOI are at platoon strength. Most are Promethean Lancers and Commanders. One or two Bandwagons were spotted, so expect some pounding. Force Recon were spotted but were not fired upon. I repeat, _NOT FIRED UPON." _Hackett emphasized that last part.

"And how old is this intel," Shepard asked.

"Yesterday. Whatever they are guarding seems to be of strategic importance. This caught Oni's attention and thinks this could be a cache of valuable information for Humanity. However-"

"It might be a trap," a Slavic voice interrupted.

All heads looked to who spoke out.

A woman, with wavy short hair shone like polished rosewood and smokey blue eyes lit up like a Christmas tree from the holotable. Her facial features were well defined like a renaissance sculpture-ounces of perfection carved right in. Her hourglass body says everything under that under-suit with the amount of attention she's getting from the men.

"Would you care to explain," Shepard nicely asked.

The woman crossed her arms and gave her attention to both Shepard and Hackett.

"Wit' the amount of forces they have outside, it iz sufficient enou'b to attract our attention and investigate. L'er a team in, maybe a few, Prometheans fall back to ambush, try to inflict heavy casualties. At least that's what I think."

"And who you might be," Hackett asked.

"MCPO Myria Kamarov, sir," she replied and saluted.

Hackett nodded and then looked at Shepard, who just shrugged her shoulders.

"So, do you accept lieutenant," he questioned. On his hand is a small rectangular chip, a circular blue light pulsed in the middle—an AI.

Shepard grabbed it without saying a word. The chip felt cold yet smooth to the touch. There were ridges by observation but non-existent to the touch.

"Very well," Hackett said, "Assuming Kamarov's depiction will happen, you all will fall back. I do not want casualties in this mission. I want it clean, in and out. Is that understood?"

All bellowed, "Yes sir."

"Good. Admiral Harper's fleet will be joining us after. Show starts in fifteen hours. Get some rest and play some War Games while you're at it. Dismissed."

* * *

**Alright. For appearance references of the Spartans in this chapter, I used David Tennant for Bristle, Jorge-052 for Jakob (b/c the latter is also a Hungarian), and Susan Coffrey (imagine her with brownish hair) for Myria. As for Shepard (and Monty), that's your own choice.**

**I didn't mention before but there will be a list of references regarding to Halo and other series of sorts, so pay attention! Next up is "Spartan town," the real introduction of the Spartans in Shepard's team, and the mystery in Requiem.**

**Once you've read the ship info,please note that I am aware of Steven Hackett was born in Buenos Aires. However, there is a clear definition between being born in a city and growing up in one, so don't bash me about it. Oh and this won't be "Yay Humanity" type of story all the way through. Sanghelli will be featured later on :D Thanks! R&R!**

**Ship information**: UNSC _Cydonia _(INF-634)

**Class**: _Infinity_-class

**Role**:

-Fleet flagship/command vessel

-Galactic exploration

**Length**: 8,580.9 meters

**Width**: 840.87 meters

**Height**: 1,250.6 meters

**Engine**: XR4 Boglin Fields: S-81/X-DFR

**Slipspace drive**: Altair Mark II

**Hull**:

-Neo-Titanium-A2 battleplate (5.6 meters)

-Energy shielding (Genesis CE5-system)

**Sensor Systems**:

-Radar

-Spectroscope

-LIDAR

**Armament**:

-4x ODP-08S Series X MAC

-650x 25 M42 Jericho

-500x 30 M98 Hellfire

-600x 30 M56 Starlights

-6x plasma turrets

-830x X39 Hard-light Fortress guns

-5x Odin nuclear missiles

-Dorsal MAC network

-Dorsal missile network

-Ten internally docked _Paris_-class heavy frigate or _Charon_-class light frigate

The fourth and biggest of her class, with one under construction, the _Cydonia_ is the culmination of human achievement, served by the strongest, best and brightest the UNSC could ever have. The first commanding officer, chosen by HIGHCOM and acknowledged by the president of the UEG, has the honor of naming the ship once she is ready for her maiden voyage.

Its main armament is sported by the devastating 978 meter MAC VI aka the "big stick," capable of firing an 11,500-ton ferric slug at .7c per gun. They are capable of firing smaller rounds but with limited ammunition. Inertial dampers placed around the guns help reduce the huge recoil, or the "earthquake," from rocking the ship. It is the latest Super-MAC in the UNSC's arsenal.

Its secondary weapons are six plasma turrets-two on the lateral sides, two on the lower bow-with a range of over 200,000 kilometers.

The ship's propulsion system is outfitted of the XR4 Boglin Fields engines partially reengineered from the Forerunners, including her sister ships and other vessels. The XR4 produces twice as much output compared to the engines in the Great War era, even at low capacity.

The experimental reactor technology used on the _Pillar of Autumn_ were adopted and added, although on a much larger scale. Multiple single reactors are overlapped by a smaller secondary reactor ring. When activated, the secondary ring supercharges the reactor, and could temporary boost the reactor energy output to 300 percent for a short amount time. In addition, the engines do not need an external coolant systems like most reactors, instead neutralizing waste heat by means of a "laser-induced optical slurry of ions chilled to near-absolute zero".

Its slipspace drive is state-of-the-art, adapted by abandoned Forerunner ships on Trevelyan. Updated UNSC and commercial vessels can now enter and exit upon arrival with pinpoint accuracy; exiting millions of miles away from their intentional target is rendered moot. Chances of STP are no longer a problem since it is reverse-engineered and maintenance provided by Huragok.

_Cydonia's_ shielding is reverse-engineered from a Forerunner ship from the aforementioned shield world. The shielding is immensely powerful, capable of taking a dozen of standard MAC rounds before depletion. A shipboard A.I. can adjust shield frequency to heighten protection, for example, kinetic and energy weaponry or very high levels of radiation. If all else fails, the hull can still provide enough protection to last a battle. The Neo-Titanium-A2 battleplate is mixed of Forerunner alloy and titanium armor: titanium covers 2.2 meters of armor on the ship and 2.9 meters of Forerunner alloy as reinforcement. While plasma simply "burns" away titanium, Forerunner alloy helps protect against the high temperatures, and the kinetic energy transfer from the MACs.


	2. How 'bout A Shutout?

_**How 'bout A Shutout?**_

_**One day before…**_

Hackett's own quarters was 'old-fashioned' in terms of the style and architecture. Having wooden walls and columns isn't exactly the norm in the 27th century. However, Hackett found elegance in simplicity. The walls were the same color as the hallway though more warmer in contrast. The Bellamy carpet is perhaps the most popular and most affordable in UNSC space. It could trap heat when winter, accidental spills can be easily cleaned, and above all, is heaven to walk on bare-foot. One could describe it as "walking on clouds and roll on their body all day naked."

He has his own bathroom and a shower, all ceramic, just a few steps away from the entrance. His personal desk is quite literally three steps away from the bathroom door.

The leather chair soon had Hackett sitting on it. A tap on the touchscreen turned orange and the big screen in front of him came to life:

"THE OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE

WELCOME. PLEASE ENTER YOUR SERVICE NUMBER AND PASSWORD AND SCAN YOUR ENROLLED FINGER ON THE KEY-SCREEN IN FRONT OF YOU."

He typed "_09782-15376-SH_" and a seven-character password. He then lightly pressed his thumb on the top right of the touch screen.

"WELCOME RDML STEVEN HACKETT."

The black screen listed five sections embedded in large white font. Hackett picked Section Four that provides the information UNSC needs, for example, Fleet Admiral Lord Hood. Basically, it's a huge-ass library of information of anything the brass needs to do their homework. Since the wealth of information is, well, humongous, it is still regulated by the main branch of ONI, Section One. Typically, the user must again enter their service number to access sections, with some need an access code given by the overseer of a particular section. Section Four doesn't need an access code, however, as it can be accessed by the brass and officers. Enlisted below an E-5 (E-7 for Navy) cannot access such information without permission and overwatch by their superior in case of informational leakage or accidents.

Hackett typed in the search bar 'UNSC Cydonia'. It nearly took an instant to complete his request and when it did, a blueprint of the ship came up on the head of the screen with schematics at the side. A long list of divisions and subdivisions placed under the image like Santa's Christmas list.

Of course, there's an easier way to do this.

"Helena, search Fire team Rubicon."

The screen shifted to a new page. Five white portfolios with their respective service tag above filled up the screen, with the leader's portfolio enlarged and the others on the lateral side in descending order of their ranks.

"Select all Spartans."

Helena popped up in front of the key-screen. She wore pink clothing, similar to that of a dress. Her fingers playfully twisted her golden hair while her other hand pressed against her hip.

Helena leaned forward a bit. "You've already looked through their profiles and put them together days ago," she said, her eyebrow rose in curiosity.

"This is something to pass the time," he replied. He leaned back and crossed his leg. He grabbed a black ceramic cup and places it under the espresso machine. His finger tapped a button and the machine whirred to life. "This team… I think there is more to them than meets the eye."

"Are you sure about this? You know what happened with Shepard on Akuze…"

"I know but I'm sure Shepard can pull this off. If the lieutenant says she's fine, I'll take her word for it."

"Alright. So…the performance reviews?"

"Read it to me please."

Helena tilted her head and grinned. "You just want to hear me talk."

Hackett couldn't resist smiling.

"Very well, _sir," _she said plafully, "Here's the report…"

...

**Present day. 2600.22.8, 1050 hours, Military Standard Time. UNSC **_**Cydonia**_** in slipspace. **

For minutes leaning on the railway, Shepard still fiddled the chip in her hand solemnly. The equipment station already donned Shepard's armor yet she still hasn't injected the chip into her helmet.

She never had an A.I all these years but had seen a few in person. Whoever is inside this chip, it's the fifth generation of "smart" A.I. Smart A.I.s are cloned from brain tissue of those who are clinically dead (and their consent beforehand). Limited multiple flash-clones of the host's brain undergoes Noesis Impression Factor, and for three of every five are successful of being a smart A.I, one or two are made into "dumb" or completely disintegrate. This particular generation has a life span of thirty-five years.

"Are you there," Shepard directed her question to the chip. There was no blue hum on the chip, just…a dull chip.

No response.

Her chin dropped onto her helmet fixed between the arms. "Figures.

"You know, I never had an A.I before, never had a need of a personal A.I. Seen a few and met them, talked with them about…stuff—philosophy, life, whatever, but never a need for one. Until there was this one blue chick, that I personally thought was quite awesome, told me of her adventures with a Spartan she loved. Aside from her wittiness, there was that word: love. Of all the things she told, that stricken me the most. Those last lines made me think…"

Shepard wondered if this was working at all and not just talking to the air. Her assumption was right, the chip started to hum again. She smiled.

"Mind saying hi?"

The blue figure of a woman materialized instantly. She sat with her arms wrapped around the knees. Her head buried between her arms like she didn't want to be seen.

_An A.I who's shy?_

"Hey there," Shepard whispered. "It's alright. It's just me."

The A.I lifted her head a bit to see Shepard. Her blue face was angry, angry at Shepard.

"I was sleeping," she bitterly said.

The Spartan's brows lifted in surprise. Whoops.

"Umm…sorry. Wait, A.I doesn't sleep."

The A.I's face slowly smiled lightly. "So close. Looks like I need to work on my jokes."

She stood on her knees and slowly rose up like a princess. Her fingers parted the bangs that covered her forehead back to the platinum-blonde hair, though a few strands stubbornly fell back. Her hair waved like the water, where the ends touched above the shoulders. Her hands brushed over her red cocktail dress seemingly to get rid any "dust."

"So…that was a joke."

"That was a joke," the A.I affirmed.

"What's your name?"

"It's Edilyn."

Shepard smiled like a child. "That's a beautiful name."

Her heels stepped back a bit. Her head shied away to the side and returned, "No it isn't."

"But it is! It's certainly better than mine," Shepard pouted.

"What is yours," Edilyn looked back.

"Victoria Shepard," she replied.

A pause.

"Tell you what. You can call me Vicky or Shepard, whichever you prefer, and I can call you Edi. How 'bout that?"

Edilyn nodded and said, "Ok."

"Ready?"

Edilyn nodded again.

Shepard donned her midnight blue GUNGNIR helmet and inserted the chip in her Neural Interface. The feeling was icy cold that sent a shiver down Shepard's spine but lasted for a short second. The HUD blipped a few times before it adjusted to the brightness of the room. The targeting interface ran a cross-check. Shepard looked around her selecting "targets" on the lower deck and around her identifying them as friendly with a yellow ring-like target.

"All systems normal," Edilyn said. "Message incoming."

A notification popped on the middle right of her HUD. Shepard opened it and a message appeared:

**WAR GAMES/ ODDBALL AT 1100 HOURS: FIRE-TEAM RUBICON AND FIRE-TEAM CASTLE ON COMLEX.**

Right. Shepard had almost forgotten about this.

"Edi, using an A.I is not allowed in War Games. I recommend you go in standby mode okay?"

"Understood."

_Well,_ Shepard thought, _time to kick ass_.

...

Rubicon and Castle teams waited in their respective lobby across the War Games room. They were the first set of teams today to fight today. Everybody else outside anxiously waited to see them on the big screens. Some waged bets on who will win—and they chose carefully. Rubicon was thought of as the FNGs like the others that had arrived earlier in the morning. But that didn't stop the would-be watchers betting that the lieutenant and her team would win the match. Castle, on the hand, might as well be happy that people betted on them to win.

Whilst in the lobby, the teams were separated in their end, planning and strategizing.

Shepard looked to her team, and huddled in a circle. "Alright, we all know this map. Monty, get the sniper and cover us. The rest of you on top and suppress fire and hold position when we get the ball. We might move later on so be ready. Use callouts, tag the enemies and don't rush."

All of them nodded in acceptance.

Shepard clapped her hands. "Alright, that's our game plan. Let's kick ass."

The Spartans disbanded. The two teams preceded towards their team spawn points.

_"Ten seconds until spawn initiation. Choose your loadout."_

Each had a holographic screen with their respective loadouts and chose one of five. Weapons digitized onto their back and weapon holster. Shepard and Bristle had the MA5-8 and the Phalanx heavy pistol. Jakob had the SAW, the Vindicator for Monty and Kamarov. Various grenades also appeared on the waist, and for Bristle, grenade rounds also appeared on his chest.

The map digitized before their eyes. Colored pixels flashed as marble looking structures magically placed themselves together and the floor morphed beneath their feet to a more gray rocky look to it.

The announcer continued the countdown. _"Five, four, three, two, one… __First to 300 wins."_

Shepard and Bristle ran up the ramp and towards the building on their right. Knowing that there would be at least one or two others going for the ball Shepard ordered Bristle to throw a flash at the corner in front of the ball. Shepard heard curses as the grenade blinded the reds.

_"Blue team has the ball. Blue team has taken the lead."_

Bristle, Jakob, and Kamarov covered their carrier as she retreated on top of the building.

Bristle spotted his target sprinting on the ground. He grabbed his lone frag grenade, led the target and threw it in front of the red Spartan. Shields flashed and crackled from the blast, and just before he had the chance to get into cover, Bristle pulled out his magnum with one hand and landed a headshot.

"_First blood."_

Jakob's machinegun ripped through multiple shields on the left walkway. Kamarov's Vindicator found itself aiming at its opponent's head; simulated bullets dropped them like rocks. Grenade explosions and gunfire forced the duo to retreat down on the ground for their shields to regenerate.

Shepard stood in the middle and crouched to make sure she won't get shot in the head. _120 points_, she thought.

Seeing Kamarov and Jakob jumped off, she decided to do the same and jumped onto the walkway where the ball spawned. Her motion sensor told her someone was coming by quickly in a linear direction. Seeing the most obvious route, she waited until a red entered through the doorway.

The red had his assault rifle pointed towards Shepard, ready to mow her down but instead received a hardball to the face and grunted. Her target disoriented, Shepard rushed her target and easily plunged her combat knife into the red's stomach. As the red fell onto his knees and disintegrated, Shepard holstered the knife and picked up the ball.

Her hand held the edge of the window and thrust her body through it. She hanged on the wall momentarily before dropping down.

"Shepard," Monty called. "Bristle got sniped. I tried to get the sniper but he moved positions so be careful."

"Copy."

A shot went above her head. "You missed one behind you."

Shepard, Jakob, and Kamarov regrouped to their original positions again albeit being more careful this time. Shepard ordered Kamarov to take the ramp on the right to watch the pathway underneath and Jakob to cover the doorway. Shepard stayed on the small ramp and against the wall.

"Bristle's back," Kamarov called out.

Kamarov scanned the area to make sure Bristle won't get killed again. Unfortunately, Bristle took gunfire at his right. He turned to the direction of the shots and deployed his hardlight shield to protect himself. The red Spartan brought himself into the open. Kamarov aimed at him and fired four bursts, with the final burst at the head.

In the clear, Bristle fell back and stood on the ramp opposite from Shepard. He then gave her a thumb up. Shepard nodded, and was unsure if he was smiling under that visor.

This time her motion sensor indicated two Spartans coming towards them. She called the three of them, showed two fingers and then pounded the wall signifying they were coming from this building. Jakob and Bristle moved towards a rock next to them should they need cover. Kamarov crouched walk over the roof, supposedly to flank behind the two reds.

_222 points, _Shepard thought. _Almost there._

Amongst the gunfire that erupted shortly after, she heard sniper rounds going off twice like fireworks.

"The sniper and his escort are down lieutenant," Monty announced.

"Nice job Monty."

"Thank you ma'am, appreciate it."

Another shot was fired from Monty.

"Shepard," Jakob called. He threw his cooked grenade at the doorway and felt satisfied that a cry rang out. "Might need to move in a bit."

Shepard jogged upwards. With only her helmet showing, she saw three new reds that sprinted halfway towards her team's position. They fired potshots at the blue Spartan. _Yea, need to ditch this place now._

"Alright, we'll make for the structure to the left of this building. Move out now, quickly."

Her metallic boots ran across the roof and her free hand threw a frag back at the abandoned position, hopefully to delay the Spartans that were coming after her. She jumped down and ran with Kamarov at her side.

Bristle and Jakob ran adjacent to Shepard's position, on the ground and vulnerable to enemy fire. Their shields flared and quickly went behind the ramp for cover. A number of explosions went off beside them and gunfire whistled above them. They returned fire but to an extent as some went behind the rocks and the continuous barrage. Not a moment too soon, sniper fire rang out on their side one by one.

"Go to Shepard," Bristle said to Jakob, "Monty and I got this. Your SAW won't do much at this range." He then handed his grenade to Jakob. "You might this."

Jakob nodded and pat his hand on the Spartan's shoulder.

Shepard and Kamarov stood side to side against the wall. They were held up by two reds on the other end of the hall.

"Any grenades," Shepard asked.

Kamarov nodded.

"Alright, cook the grenade and throw it. Then we'll rush the bastards," Shepard suggested.

"With the ball in your hand," Kamarov questioned.

"Yeah, it'll be fun."

Kamarov glared at her for a moment, and just shrugged her shoulders. She primed her grenade within a few seconds, and lunged the small object across the hallway. The duo started sprinting.

A red on their left burst firing at them. Half a second later, a grenade bounced in front of his face and exploded. His shields were nearly depleted but it couldn't hold against a barrage of automatic fire below.

The grenade Kamarov threw exploded at the corner of the wall. The lone red's shield beeped rapidly in response from the explosion. However, he saw the objective coming to him but instead saw a blue rushing around the corner slamming the butt of the rifle to the abdomen. The gun swung, bashing the helmet that made him look at stars, and a roundhouse kick to the ground hard.

The red lay unconscious but no more as a bullet went through the helmet, ending his life.

"Ouch. Don't want to go against you."

Kamarov laughed wickedly at the sarcastic comment.

_Victory, Blue team wins. Game over._

...

* * *

**A.N: Wow, my first written battle. I know it seems quick but it was a shutout game of around three minutes (saw one on youtube.)I hope you like the added twist of action to this. Carrying a ball and running around with people shooting doesn't sound like a fun chapter.**** Thoughts on to make fights seem more...idk more fluid, action-y, etc., let me know. I've taken some liberties in replacing some weapons with new ones, for example, Jakob's SAW replacing the Forerunner suppressor, and the Vindicator for the BR.**

**I'll start posting profile reviews of Rubicon, one per chapter like this. **** If not, let me know and I'll do something. **It's inspired by Noble Team's performance review from Halo: Reach.

**Edi, or Edilyn, will be more emotional though still retaining her traits (and attempts at joking) from ME2/ME3. It's my way of putting it in this story.**

**And as always, R&R. **

Fire team Rubicon performance review (Adm. Jack Harper)

**Full Name: Shepard, Victoria**

**Service Number: S-392**

**Unit: NAVSPECWAR/EXODST; NAVSPECWAR/GROUPTHREE/RUBICON**

**P(MOS): 1130**

**Enlistment Date: XX-XX-2571**

**Location: CLASSIFIED**

**Gender: F**

**Birthplace: MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA **

**Birth Date: 01/04/2553**

**Performance: **Exceptional soldier; maintains discipline in the line of duty, cool under pressure, astounding tactical awareness, efficient at close range. Charismatic and inventive; capable of interacting with non-Spartans effectively and efficiently.

**Comments:** Not much to say, especially her early files has so much black ink. I guess it comes with being an N7. That and she has experience in warfare and tactics and leadership qualities. She has seen most action than the Spartans in her new team or anyone on the _Cydonia_ with Commander Osuna as an exception. Shepard is an interesting character. She is not afraid to meet new people and she builds trust fairly, and is loyal closest to her. More outgoing in off-duty hours (just don't play cards; she has a mean poker face).


	3. Revelation

_**Revelations**_

**2600.22.8, 2145 hours, Military Standard Time. UNSC **_**Cydonia, **_**in orbit around Requiem.**

"Any unusual signs yet Admiral?"

The man on the hologram table shook his head. "Not yet," he replied confidently. "My Spartans and Recon teams have reported no sightings of the Prometheans other than the ones we found."

"I see."

"My guts tell me I do not like this Hackett. If we do indeed have another New Phoenix incident—"

A pause.

"Not to worry, sir, we'll get it done."

The admiral nodded and saluted. The hologram disappeared into thin air. George then appeared on the table.

"Sir, if we do confront another Forerunner ship, our dreadnoughts alone might be able to cripple it but not outright destroy it. The calculations I've done conclude of a combined effort of the Sixth and Eighth fleets without the ODPs. They will be able to take one down with ease, assuming some, if not most, Forerunner ships are not as durable and large as the Didact's ship."

Hackett rubbed his chin. He knew the battle that took place at the same time when New Phoenix got completely wiped out in an instant. No survivors, just dust and ashes of their remains. Only when ONI lifted the quarantine New Phoenix saw an increase in population of only one percent in 2559. People were still skeptical and scared of a similar attack. Others were superstitious of staying in someone's grave.

"_But things do get better in time_," President Buttner of the URNA reassured. "_We move on but we never forget those who had lost their lives in an attack such as this…_"

The hour-long speech helped mitigate the discomfort, citing why people shouldn't be so fearful of going back. He went on to say that the city was once attacked and destroyed by the Covenant but rebuilt and people prospered again. "_I ask of you to do the same: to rebuild the city to its heightened glory for ongoing generations to come. Don't let fear drive you. Let hope and good faith and fortune drive us to a better future._"

Urban growth rose steadily as the years passed by; now New Phoenix one of the top leading economic states in the URNA.

_Let's hope it stays that way. All of 'em. _

"Are the fire teams ready?"

"They're awaiting orders. Rubicon is also on standby. Shall I give the word?"

"Yes."

...

**2206 Hours. Fire team Rubicon, onboard Pelican-359. **

"Ma'am what makes us so special," Jakob asked.

Shepard glanced at his helmet. For a moment her head looked down on the floor. She spun the helmet with her fingertips as her mind tried to come up with an answer. Her hands stopped the motion, gripping it firmly as she sighed as one of her responses.

"To be honest I don't know. One day I'm just chilling on the ship and the next thing I knew I was getting you guys."

"Fate perhaps," Myria suggested. "Little things could make a big difference."

Shepard scoffed. "Who knows, maybe we all save the galaxy someday right?"

The Spartans chuckled in response. Some shook their heads.

"When we're done with this," Shepard spoke out, "drinks are on me."

"Lieutenant, fifteen seconds 'til drop," the pilot barked in the speakers.

Shepard donned her helmet. With Edi inside, GUNGNIR automatically sets up the HUD without its usual checkup. Since a camera is in place of a visor, Edi can increase the resolution of an image in real-time and can record when needed, with or without Shepard's permission. She too can point out specific objectives or one or multiple targets of interest on the HUD.

Shepard raised her arm into a ninety-degree angle perpendicular to the floor. Her closed hand positioned upwards with her index finger pointing towards the ceiling, said hand rotating clockwise three times.

The Spartans stood up and rallied to the already opening bay door.

The pelican descended gracefully and hovered above the ground. The team hopped off the dropship onto the metallic brown earth. The sun began to set behind the mountains on the horizon, blue-violet colors reigned the sky above. Small distinct white lines showed themselves as marks of a shell casing a planet like yolk in an egg.

"Edi, bring up the route leading to the structure."

A gridded map flashed onto the lower left part of everyone's HUD. The path shown looked like a maze of twists and turns and changes in elevations. Nevertheless, the route was all over two klicks long.

"All right, Bristle, you're in front with me. Monty, cover us on top. Keep an eye out on things."

...

"Ma'am we got a sentinel about thirty meters and closing," Monty reported as his built-in scanner device tracked the oncoming object

"Any Prometheans?"

"Negative."

Shepard signaled her ground team to get into cover by the rock next to them. Shepard positioned herself near the edge of the rock. Her helmet peaked out over the top edge of the rock seeing the sentinel coming in fast. Shepard readied her assault rifle as the unit inched closer. The Spartan popped out of cover and aimed at it but did not fire. The other three slowly rose up to see the confusion.

The sentinel stopped a few feet in front as it extended its arms, fully uncovering its fluorescent blue eye. A bright blue light projected out of the eye and scanned the group. The light soon stopped and the arms protracted back in front of the eye.

"_Exspectata Reclaimers, commodo insisto,_" it said.

The Spartans stood in silence. It spoke. Surprisingly it knew a language.

"Shepard was that I think it was," Bristle asked in bewilderment.

"Human. It's human," she said, her tone much higher than before.

"Not only human, but Latin," Edi joined in.

"Latin? Latin is a dead language. There's no way Prometheans would know a dead language," Jakob forcedly stated.

"A sentinel is not part of the Promethean structure. Maybe it knows longer than us. Uses it as primary source of communication whenever it encounters one of us," Kamarov expressed. "It happened on Onyx once. And it told us to come with it."

Jakob shot his head to Kamarov with a glaring look that is obscured by the golden visor. "How'd you know that?"

"I don't know. Just did."

"Edi, translate the words for me onto my HUD: 'How do you know Latin,'" Shepard instructed.

The translated words popped up on the screen. Shepard rehearsed it to herself with trouble. Speaking a dead language for thousands years were bound to have some sort of verbal stuttering.

"Quam ope…ror vos ten…eo Latin?"

"_Ego sum programmed ut…_"

"'I am programmed to…" Edilyn translated for everyone.

"_Nos narro lingua of antiquitas, prodromus of vestri ancestors…_"

"We speak the language of the Ancients, the forerunners of your ancestors…"

"What Ancients. Who are they," Shepard asked confusingly. The translated words popped on to her screen and repeated it again with minor difficulty.

It simply replied, "_Vos._"

"You," Edilyn emphasized in question. Her rise in tone simply matched the reactions of the Spartans: What. The. Fuck?

"So…You guys spoke Latin before almost every human spoke Latin… I'm confused here."

"Not to worry Edi, we'll know soon enough. Everyone, let's move."

...

"Commodo exspecto unus moment."

The sentinel hummed away into one of the vents in the room.

The Spartans quickly observed the room. It had a light blue hue to it from the beam in the middle. The triangular walls protracting upwards made the room seem gigantic like the pyramids of Giza.

The Spartans cautiously walked towards the beam. The ground shook as they got closer and with a flash, it seemed they were entirely somewhere else. They found themselves in an open room similar to the one they were in. Eyes wandered side to side and to the front seeing clouds and the farthermost body of water.

They then turned their attention to a slim robed figure hovering in the background, partially obscured by the bright light and clouds behind it. The figure descended slowly above the platform before the Spartans. From observing they could tell the figure was a female, old yet young and youthful. Her headpiece was curious as no strand of hair existed. Her silver clothing was elegant in simplicity, fitted her in every curve of her arms and waist.

"Reclaimers," she began. "I am what remains of the Forerunner known as the Librarian. My memories were retained to assist humanity on the path to the Mantle. Unfortunately, you must do one final test before achieving reclamation."

Shepard took a small step forward. "What test? Is this why you brought us here," she asked politely.

Jakob butted in. "How do we know you're the real Librarian in front of us?"

"No, and yes; I'm merely just a fragment—like a memory. Humanity must end a threat that has destroyed countless civilizations before the Forerunners, but not alone. It is not the Flood. It is too large for humanity to handle, and you must unite the galaxy to fight against this threat.

"Before our war with the Flood, inhabitants on colonized systems that were not attacked or captured by humanity long ago were simply gone. Space-faring species that we have looked over in secret had a planet population next to nothing the month after. Following our Mantle we have made first contact with them to ensure the safety of these species. They told us of these unstoppable ships with arms destroying and harvesting everything in its path.

"Our Weapon Masters examined the collective species' weapons and the ones they have fought. They were the same. We had suspected this but we assumed the weapons merely shared similar weapon designs not types of ammunition. They used what is called Mass Effect. Simply put, this mysterious element can increase or decrease mass of almost anything. The Weapon Masters argued that we should not share weapon designs but to merely lend some. We did.

"For years we have helped the collective species against the threat. They were beaten and driven out of the galaxy but at a cost. The collective had lost the most people in the war and their planets devastated beyond terraforming. Only a handful of systems remained for each of them. Our primary pioneer groups volunteered to find suitable systems, each bringing a small fleet of civilian refugees. Unfortunately, this search only found us a new enemy that had pursued you long before: the Flood.

"Reclaimers, I am sorry that your race must endure another hard path but the Mantle is not to be taken lightly. It will be a long arduous journey ahead and you will need help."

"Help from whom?"

"In your standard time, one day from now you will head to the fourth planet in your home system, near the Argyre Planitia in the South Pole. From there you will meet a certain someone. Seek him and he will lead the way."

"This threat," Kamarov began, "when do they arrive to the galaxy. Do you know how they appeared?"

"I do not know. The time will soon come, and when it does I will be able to offer advice as well as him.

"All of you must go now. Your time is running short."

The Librarian held her hand up in goodbye. Her body drifted away from the Spartans into the light behind her. "Prepare yourself Reclaimers," her final words rang out as the body became obscured by the light. A second of a tiny flash went dull. Reality went back in front of their eyes—they were in the room once more.

Shepard turned to her team. Their looks still gazed the far beyond, minds pondered whether this actually happened or not, that they've actually met the Librarian. _The _Librarian.

Shepard had been speechless like a mute since the entity began her little pre-historic lesson. Her throat finally unclogged itself and began working.

"Guys," Shepard called to her teammates. Her soft voice through the comms managed to gather everyone's attention. "It's best if we get going, tell Admiral Harper what happened here. If you need, drinks are on me. I need a few after this."

* * *

**A.N: Yay, the Librarian makes a (surprise[!] cameo) appearance. And sorry, I had to delay the Mars bit until the next update (gotta make it right y'know!) For future hints, it's not your typical 'ruins found on Mars' thing. It's... wait, don't want to spoil it even more for ya. **

** Btw, for future references I put my own UNSC credit converter in the afternotes. It's something I did for fun, and hopefully make some things easier and simple rather than going to Halopedia's assumption of converting credits (and don't lecture about currency please. I used simple math equations - no need for complex stuff n'kay?)**

**Anyways, enjoy and, as always, R&R! **

**Weapon Specs: M-7 Phalanx Hand Cannon**: Successor to the Magnum series, this top-of-line handgun is both accurate and powerful in the hands of a skilled marksman, but its near-high recoil is its main disadvantage (unless fired by a Spartan). Recoil can be managed through extensive practice and handling.

It fires an eight-round .50AE magazine and can be modified to shoot other high-powered cartridges such as the .500 S&W. It is lethal against unshielded enemies even with armor three inches thick. At point-blank range the force of the muzzle blast can send the victim flying three feet back.

The M-7 did not entirely replace the M-6 series. Variants of the M-6 are still used by civilians and enforcements and militias and due to the lowered production rate after the M-7's inception, it is presently expensive to buy at 2, 450 cR each.

[Misc.] **Credit (cR) currency conversion**:

**Exchange rate**: R/1.50 cR, R is the exchange rate of country or a planetary currency.

1.) Ex.: 1.00 USD/1.50 cR = .66 cR, so 1 USD for every .66 cR.

This gives the amount of [insert desired currency] = D and number of credits desired = cR. Equations follow as is: cR = D/R or D = R * cR where both R's is the found cR rate.

B.) Ex.: Current price of an M-6 series handgun is 4,450 cR. To find amount of dollars is D = R * cR. D = .66 * 2,450 cR, so D is 1,617 USD.

...

Fire team Rubicon Performance Review (Adm. Jack Harper)

**Full Name: Kamarov, Myria **

**Service Number: S-054**

**Unit: NAVSPECWAR/GROUPTHREE/RUBICON**

**P(MOS): 1130**

**Enlistment Date: XX-XX-2586**

**Location: CLASSIFIED**

**Gender: F**

**Birthplace: CLASSIFIED **

**Birth Date: 9/26/2568**

**Performance: **Cunning. She does bring intel on the table when needed. However, she tends to make sarcastic comments when bringing said intel on table. Has an IQ of 146, very intelligent for a Spartan—something that's quite rare. Interactions with non-Spartans are of no concern.

**Comments: **Follows lead without question; vocal in her opinions in and out of the battlefield. She has an ability to acquire and digest information like its second nature—a bit of a nightmare, that one. Much to my surprise, her early records require Section One access, yet her Spartan record is almost untouched by ink. I say that she may be a spook, but that's a damning accusation with dirt evidence.


	4. Sorry Dear, I Was Miles Away

_**Sorry dear I was miles away, how big was it again?**_

**2600.23.8, 0602 hours, Military Standard Time. UNSC **_**Cydonia**_**, floor 302, room 20-2. Currently in slipspace. **

"_Shepard, we have to go. They're dead and we will be too if we don't get out of here."_

"_No, the captain—"_

_BAAM!_

"_No, we are getting out from this piece of shit rock. We got the bastard but Storm forces have us ambushed. C'mon… Live to fight another day. Don't waste this Vick."_

"_Alright…"_

"_Pelican-097, this is Corporal Howard, need immediate extraction on my loc—"_

Gasp.

Shepard's body immediately woke and popped up in exhilaration. Her heart raced and her body pumped adrenaline to hers veins. Her breathing pounded her lungs begging for more oxygen. Sweat pore through her skin trying to calm the temperature that was heating up her body. Shepard tried to swallow but the saliva did nothing to comfort her throat—it was dry as a desert.

Her breathing calmed down in a matter of seconds. She still felt hot in her body; removing the blanket and sitting the edge of her bed did not help her cool down.

She had the attention span to look at her clock. It said 6:03 a.m., seventeen minutes before her alarm would buzz loudly in the room. Waking up early isn't her way to start a morning, except when bullets start whizzing around. Then that would be a hell of a morning to start.

Her ignorant mind woke up by three knocks. She looked up to where it originated. The metal door slid opened slowly, and head popped out.

"You okay Shepard?"

Her mind instantly recognized that voice, slightly unaccented. It was Kamarov.

"We both heard you screamed and making some noises," Jakob added.

"I'm okay. It was just a nightmare," Shepard lied. _I wish it was…_

Kamarov fully opened the door and let herself in, motioning Jakob to do the same. Reluctant, he went inside in spite of worrying he would intrude the lieutenant's privacy. However, he was more worried of Shepard's well-being.

Jakob moved his hand over a knob to turn on the light. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it with his arms crossed while Kamarov sat next to Shepard.

"You sure that was just a nightmare? It sounded more than just that."

"Yes I'm sure," Shepard exasperated.

The brunette's brows furrowed with annoyance. "I know a lie when I hear one Victoria," Kamarov said, her voice deep and serious.

"I would listen to her," Jakob butted in. "Damn woman cut though all my defenses and David's too," he silently said.

Shepard looked to the wall across from her. Her problems are her own to deal with—she did it before. How is talking to one another going to help? It was too long a story to tell in one sitting, and a tough one to publish orally.

"I just remembered a mission long before I became a Spartan. That's all," Shepard mentioned solemnly.

Kamarov sighed through her nose. "If I may ask, where was it?"

"I believe that's still classified."

Kamarov raised a brow. Nodding her head in acceptance, she sighed silently. Her legs stood and walked toward Jakob.

"PTSD is a serious thing Victoria, even if you won't admit it." Kamarov gazed at Shepard. Her voice soothed and said, "Don't be afraid to ask for some help." With that said, Kamarov motioned her head to let Jakob open the door. Jakob said his goodbyes and the door shut quietly, leaving the lieutenant alone in the darkness of her room.

Twenty minutes had passed since they left.

Shepard still sat on her bed, lifeless and void. Her muscles soon got the nerve to get moving. She approached the sink on the wall next to her nightstand and turned on the faucet. Her hand dwelled under it, flinched back a little from its searing cold temperature and shook the water off the hand. Hot water, they said, it would be available to all, they said. Bullshit.

Agitated, Shepard had the patience to let water heat up.

Her hopes were crushed. And she must've heard something…

Defeated, she grabbed her dark grey under-suit from the closet and tossed it on the bed. Her hands pulled her shorts down unto the floor and then to her midsection removing the damped milky white shirt. With her clothes tossed onto some random corner and her athletic body half-naked, she grabbed a white tank top and slipped it on.

Light blinded her eyes, her head turned in reaction to the brightness. Her eyesight recovered quickly and she turned to the only open door linking to the outside world.

Kamarov.

She stood at the door with her mouth gaped slightly, her body froze and her hand still on the door handle. Her blue eyes kept its attention on the finely tuned body that stood in front like the Venus de Milo. Yet, Kamarov's cheeks were becoming pink.

"Door," Shepard said without raising her voice. She said it once again loud enough to end Kamarov's trance.

The door closed in a hurry. Without light the room turned dark again and Shepard's eyes accustomed to the change. There was only a small hue of light left—the clock provided some brightness.

The under-suit was on Shepard's body and her pants buckled over without trouble and went out the door.

Kamarov leaned against the wall with one of her feet planted against it. Her hands cuffed behind her slouched back, and her head faced the floor at an angle. Rosewood hair partially covered her face like a curtain, the tip of the lips and her chin were only visible on the stage.

Shepard cleared her throat.

The short-haired woman head turned quickly to see Shepard. She smirked caringly.

Shepard motioned her head to the right. "Walk with me," she said.

Quick on her feet, Kamarov joined the lieutenant's side. From a person's standpoint the two were near equal height, Kamarov beating her superior by only a few inches. When in armor, however, that little detail is becomes obsolete. Choosing who is better looking or beautiful depending on a person's word choice, it all comes down to personal opinion—and that requires a lot of brain power, figuratively speaking.

The pair toured through endless hallways like a labyrinth albeit with guidance from digitized direction markers above their head. Lights lit up the ash gray hallways as if the sun's brightness bear down on them.

Kamarov began to wonder if this walk will ever end.

She only wanted to check up on the lieutenant since the rest of the team ate in this section's mess hall. Aside from the delicious breakfast of eggs, bacon and beans, the delay began to worry her. With her last bite, and Monty's want of her last piece of bacon which she ignored, her little checkup brought her to Shepard's door.

She hesitated for a moment of not wanting to disturb Shepard's privacy. Kamarov knocked on her door two times. No answer. Thirty seconds past and she knocked twice again, this time more loudly and calling her name. No answer.

This doubled her worries. Theories and conclusions processed in her head like a computer of what might have happened inside the room. Maybe it was PTSD after all? Oh, the ramifications of soldier like Shepard.

Shepard's conscious must've broken.

As Kamarov opened the door she might as well be relieved the lieutenant was all and well. She'd be even more if her timing could've been much better. Seeing her CO half-naked was not a good thing. When her world got back together Kamarov felt her face quite warm, her heart beating a little faster. She quickly dismissed the thought even before it began.

In sum, that little endeavor brought her here walking with Shepard. And when she would just ask Shepard where in the hell they are going, her eyes caught the sign above with one of the directions leading to the mess hall.

Groups of men and women filled half the room, eating and conversing with one another. Tables were filled, people going from one table to another to join in their friends. The only sound was talk and balks of laughter and ooh's. It's their morning downtime before duty calls.

The aroma of bacon invaded Shepard's nose, and welcomed it. She left Kamarov's side, her stomach growled, driven crazy to be satisfied with food. Shepard followed the smell instinctively, grabbed a tray and a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs from one of the dozen self-service stands set in the middle of the mess hall. She too took slices of bread diagonally cut and spread with butter that had already seeped through.

She began to move away when her tray bumped to figure standing in front of her. Shepard recounted. Five of them appeared front of her.

It's Commander Osuna and his team.

His arms crossed, locked tight above his heaving chest. His sour face gazed at Shepard like an over-watching eye with brows angled downwards to the middle, dunes of winkles on his bronzed skin.

"Shepard," he growled.

"Commander," Shepard returned curtly, hopefully to ease the uncomforting feeling in her.

"That mission"—his gravelly voice inched closer to the red-head—"was to be given to me, and only me, yet it was not. I know it was you, and don't you dare deny it."

Shepard didn't say anything. The commander was predictable when pissed off. Angry as the Hulk, dumb as a mule. His towering body did nothing to intimidate Shepard. She already grew accustomed to his behavior.

"Well," he said.

"Can we discuss this after I eat. Y'know… Bacon," Shepard asked, chuckling lightly.

Her eyes looked at the food as the tray flew away from Shepard's hands, pieces of eggs splattering onto the floor and bacon landed on top of one another. Her impassive image shielded her shock of the action in front of her. Breakfast was in ruins, and someone is going to pay for that.

The clamp of the tray hitting the floor had everyone's head looking for the source. The standoff garnered everyone's attention in the mess hall.

"What do you want," her voice asked tightly.

As if that question was a cue, the commander's arms pushed outwards toward Shepard's chest. She stumbled back to the stand of food and landed on the edge. Her eyes tracked the assailant coming towards her.

Everyone in the mess hall gathered around the ensuing fight. Osuna's men stepped back, observing the fight and dared not to jump in.

Adrenaline kicked in, pupils dilated, heart pumping-Shepard was ready. She took up her stance, left foot and hand forward, the right foot and hand behind. Her body lowered a few inches, legs apart far from each other, and fists in front ready to jab and punch in full force.

The man launched a full right swing, fast as a hardball. Shepard ducked her head and brought her right fist to the unguarded lower jaw. Shepard followed as the Spartan stumbled a few feet back and launched numerous jabs at his face before grabbing her wrist.

Her voice whimpered in pain. Osuna's left fist hit the woman's stomach like a brick and to her nose.

Shepard again stumbled back to the stand and shook off the hit. Blood fell through her nostrils and ran down to her bottom lip. She spat out blood on her lips and wiped the rest off with her hand though blood continued to spill.

Her right hand looked intensively for a plate to use. There was barely any. Meters away, she could see the commander begin to approach her.

The commander walked towards his target angrily and full of wrath. Fists were bolted in tight, ready to pounce and unleash hell.

Steady breathing calmed her body. Deep breaths tuned in, and with each exhale through her mouth time had slowed down. Her finger finally touched ceramic. Nerve messages ran up to her spine and then down to her hand, consciously grabbing the plate.

Fingers gripped the edge of the white plate like holding the steel part of a knife. Her left leg moved forward and her arm outwards still in front. The plate elevated, dropping scrambled eggs behind Shepard's back, and flung out into the air.

It flew straight as an arrow and moved faster than the speed of light. The plate impacted on Osuna's face like an asteroid, hundreds of pieces shattered into the air as confetti.

With the commander stunned, Shepard dashed forward, her right hand ready to deliver the blow. Osuna's defense is out of the play; there was no time to block her hit even at the last second. Her fist shot an uppercut at the bottom jaw, tilting his head back, and his body had begun flying by a kick to the abdomen, directing back to his men.

Two of them caught their commander but did not expect the full weight of the body and the force of the punch. They fell under the weight as the remaining two Spartans bolted towards the lieutenant.

Shepard instinctively backed to the stand, waiting to strike at the right moment.

One was suddenly tackled down onto the floor and got head-butted; the other was kicked above the knee by Shepard as he looked behind to what had happened.

"A bit late to the dance, chief," Shepard said playfully. Her body relaxed to normal, and breathed heavily.

"I aim to please," Kamarov replied.

...

**0630 hours. Seventh Fleet, UNSC **_**Cydonia.**_

A dozen micro-black holes appeared in space, ripping up the fabric of space and time. _Marathon-_class heavy cruisers, and _Paris_-class heavy frigates entered real space in seconds, in and out like a drop of water. Amongst in the group is the _Nylund_-class destroyers.

Recently deployed in the later stages of the Second Requiem Campaign, the _Nylund_-class is the second of three destroyer classes. Over six hundred meters long, sporting two Magnetic Acceleration Cannons and over 35 missile pods, the _Nylund_-class can deliver a world of hurt concentrating her fire with other ships. Shielding gives her more protection against three plasma torpedoes, and one and a half meters of Neo-Titanium-A2 battleplate armor for extra lasting endurance. Designed as a support class, it can hold against its own against a single Covenant cruiser and no larger and no more.

The _Cydonia _played the leading part in this expedition. Hackett ran the show, Harper managed fleet priorities on his ship the _Guiding Light_, a _Marathon-_class heavy cruiser.

Drifting hundreds of kilometers towards the planet, the fleet readied their flight plans to the southern part of Mars—Argyre Planitia. Argyre Planitia has a significant population far from the highlands, numbering in the tens of millions, but small compared to the northern hemishpere. The most noteworthy of the area except for its outstanding Asian cuisines and culture is the significance of its high concentration on

"Sir," George called as he popped on the corner of the holotable, a hand holding his personal sword cane. "There appears to be some atmospheric disturbance away from the civilian population. It is interfering with the weather—lightning storms and heavy precipitation with winds clocking in over one hundred and fifty kilometers per hour."

Hackett strolled seamlessly to the bow window. He could see the storm engulfing the inland of New Lagaspi as the planet's horizon got bigger and bigger. This storm is abnormally larger than the ones on Earth. Hurricane season ended weeks ago. It's a rare occurrence to one arrive so late. And to see a storm in the south rather than the north, it only added concern to his mind.

"Does it interfere with our plans," he asked.

"No, and yes," George said with some concern. "While our ships won't have much trouble traversing through the storm albeit it will be rocky, electrical interferences _will_ mess up our readings. I wouldn't suggest letting a pelican fly through that without an A.I. Simply put, it's a Bermuda triangle roller-coaster ride." George chuckled quietly at the last sentence. "I have predicted its path. It has passed the city fifteen hours ago, dissipating. In a matter of minutes the remains will reach the Argyre Highlands."

The holotable showed the country and the hurricane path above it. At the other end of the table are the highlands.

"I see. You say it's dissipating. How much has it fallen apart?"

"About half the size since it started. It's being scattered as it moves along. However, it somehow retained its power."

"Relay that information to the admiral. Interference or not, we will continue into the storm. Eyeball it if we have to."

The fleet of ships, kilometers away from each other, entered the atmosphere. The _Cydonia_ was the first to go. Her bow pointed downwards at an angle. It's shape of entry was like a meteorite burning up against the friction of air. The flames soon dissipated, leaving behind clouds of white smoke and a trail of fire in its wake. Her untouched skin covered by an unseeable shield of silvery light, showing itself in a blink of an eye before returning invisible.

Others soon followed suit. In fifteen minutes, the remains of the storm were in sight of the fleet above. Islands of clouds blanket much of the large snowed earth, leaving parts of it seen until one cloud collided with another.

The _Cydonia_ and its escort entered under the troposphere, kilometers high above the ground, engines roaring like a monster in a cave.

Scattered precipitation rained heavily upon the blocky ships, shading their armor to a blacker hue, and washing away inches of snow on the ground. Green grass finally breathed oxygen and showered by the rain as if it were the first time in ages. Slopes of wet snow fell of the cliff sides down to a miniature avalanche and a flood of water.

The ships slowed and hovered in position. They had reached their destination.

"Anything out there," Hackett questioned out loud.

No answer.

All he could see was nothing but earth and gray clouds wondering aimlessly. Perhaps they arrived early.

"Sir," one of the sensory officers said, "there seems to some sort of disturbance in the air. This time it's different."

Hackett asked, "What do you mean 'different'?"

"Well, the clouds are forming back," George said very plainly as he pointed towards the sky.

Hackett turned his head. The clouds were forming together rather quickly leaving nothing but darkness, encompassing the entire fleet and covered them.

Below his feet the floor started to move—no, the whole ship started to move. The dreadnought rattled progressively rocking side to side; lights flickered everywhere, and demented screens spasm trying to stay alive.

The admiral and his crew hung on for dear life. Some had lost their balance and fell hard onto the floor, tumbling on a trampoline. Few held onto the rails or their seats gripping tightly and refusing to let an ounce of tightness leave their place.

What may seem like an eternity only lasted seconds.

Flash of sky blue pierced through the clouds and to the bridge. Eyes flinched at momentary brightness. The ship soon calmed where almost everyone stood on their feet. Darkness faded into white, opening the curtains to a new set on the stage.

Cotton clouds appeared before the ships. Engines were silent in the sky as if someone took its breath away. It nevertheless drove its respective ship in the endless sea of white puffs of clouds.

"Where are we Nav," Hackett ordered.

"I don't know. I can't access my post, it's not responding," the officer replied.

"Same here sir," another officer called out.

"Slipspace drives are overloaded," George said with disappointment in his voice. "Causes unknown. It will be awhile before it's operable."

Hackett exasperated and shook his head in defeat. "We are running blind and the _Cydonia_ is handicapped. Send drones in the air, find out where we are."

"Yes sir," was all the A.I said before disappearing into nothing.

Is this another Requiem? Will they encounter another natives of this world in Forerunner origin, similar to the Prometheans? Hackett prayed to hope that won't happen.

The vessels finally entered clear skies into a whole new place, above the green earth a thousand miles high. Floating geometric structures lined up in the sky, with a few moving in random directions.

In the distance was three structures, the middle largest of the lateral two. At this distance Hackett could barely make out the design but he knew it is of Forerunner origin. Its front was sleek, an extremely thin triangle gap in the middle getting bigger as it went down and stopping below the middle of the building. The perimeter of the structure was guarded by a rectangular wall high enough to see afar with multiple protruding trapezoid-shaped tip evenly displaced on top.

The fleet of ships went to action. Every person was put on alert—scientists, infantry, Spartans. Everyone.

_Cydonia's _bridge was hectic, and so was every ship's bridge. Computers were still temporarily down affected from the 'teleportation' event. The fleet ran naked in every aspect of retrieving information. Luckily, an A.I is helpful in situations such as these. Computers were down but not sensors on the outside, and they can do such a task.

George had processed the information in a matter of nanoseconds, from the outside sensors to the drone's intel. He then conversed with other in the fleet. They all reached to a similar conclusion, double-checking and triple-checked the information before reaching a consensus.

How they came here was rather a complex situation. None of them had solid information whatsoever. They, however, agreed to the idea that it was a Forerunner-related teleportation system. It's a long shot but that was all they could muster with so little evidence.

In seconds, George reappeared in the bridge. Everyone was working around the clock, gathering all the information they could and repairing the short-circuited computers.

"Admiral Hackett," he called, "I have some information to tell you."

"What is it," he said. Hackett dismissed Anderson from his side and approached the holotable.

"With the computers were down, sensors are still somehow operational. I have gathered and pieced the necessary information of our whereabouts." George's cane tapped the air, revealing the fleet's location marked by a blinking yellow dot above the holotable. "What we are looking at is our location in around one-hundred twenty thousand kilometers in circumference, the farthest we could reach so far due to some sort of electrical inference in our telemetry modules, limiting our capabilities to track if a team has gone too far."

The admiral's hand hovered above his mouth, his eyes dropped. "Requiem is smaller than that," he muttered.

"Indeed," George agreed. "I can only assume on thing"—his voice lowered—"we are inside a Micro Dyson Sphere."

"How big is it?"

"The UNSC had never found such a place, only shield worlds were the common theme. The diameter of the sphere is the size of Earth's orbit, or three-hundred million kilometers."

Hackett shot his gaze at the A.I. His hand dropped to his side, eyes wide open perplexed by sheer size of the world. "Three hund…" His voice strangled to continue any further.

George continued. "With all due respect sir, this expedition may a bit out of our reach. With only twelve ships and a bare minimum number of scientists we can't go over the whole sphere. I believe that our top priority should be able to find a map room. I can access the information to find where we are specifically, both in this world and its location in space."

Hackett thought for a moment. His hands pressed against the edge of the holotable, leaning against it. His chin nearly touched the deflating chest, sighing he said, "Ok, prep all teams to search the map room, deploy the Spartans too. Start by searching those three structures ahead of us and around it. I want updates by the hour, is that understood? Tell Admiral Harper of the situation."

"He knows sir. Selene told already," George said.

"Good. There's one more thing. George, tell Anderson he has the bridge."

George tilted his head in curiosity. "Any reason why sir?"

"To talk to Shepard and Osuna in the brig."

* * *

**A.N: Well, that does it. Looks like Hackett and Harper has their hands full, literally. A Micro Dyson Sphere, oh boy where will we go?**

** Writing this was small pain chapter was a pain and also fun, and the biggest so far. The Janus Key Spartan Ops 9 will possibly be a part in this story and possibly the events from tenth episode. **

**On another note, Happy belated Valentine's gift to you all (it was unprecedented.) Any questions or comments, pm me or write in the review section. And one more thing, do any of you guys know where to write my stories for free? My Microsoft Word trial will expire next wednesday and it would be quite some time before my dad would get it. If you know any, please let me know. Enjoy, and as always, read and review!**

Fire team Rubicon performance review (Adm. Jack Harper)

**Full Name: Puskas, Jakob **

**Service Number: S-211**

**Unit: NAVSPECWAR/GROUPTHREE/RUBICON**

**P(MOS): SO**

**Enlistment Date: XX-XX-2577**

**Location: CLASSIFIED**

**Gender: M**

**Birthplace: Tatabánya, Reach**

**Birth Date: 2/13/2559**

**Performance: **Has experience under his belt. He has a thing for big guns and tends to name them in Hungarian even if it was only for a short amount of time to use such a big gun. Nevertheless, his specialty is not only using BFGs he fixes them and other small arms, a prodigy better than any weapons engineer. That sort of talent is something we need, and I'm grateful he would some of use in the field.

**Comments: **He has a bit of trouble with non-Spartans. When encountering civilians and other military personal with the exception of high-ranking officers, he becomes an introvert. He's silent around them and reclusive, possibly claustrophobic but hopefully not severe. A bit hard to read like trying to read stone, he stays impassive when not wearing a helmet.


	5. I Intend To Live Forever Part I

_I Intend To Live Forever... _Part I

**A.N: Soooo… Requiem is destroyed per the season finale of Spartan Ops-damn you Jul 'Mdama! But the magical thing about [fan] fiction is you can make shit up, of course, with artistic license. So consider my Requiem alive and well as it didn't fly into the sun. Now that we got that out of the way, enjoy reading! **

* * *

President Donald Harrison stared his wooden desk. Files of papers and documents stacked neatly near the edge, not too high or too low—a look in perfection. His pen in hand ready to sign the bill that the UNSC had proposed to the UEG, debated for years until Congress of the UEG had passed only two days ago: let the Sangheili, Unggoy, and the Lekgolo join UNSC ranks but not be fully recognized with full rights as citizens on Earth and her colonies.

In almost over forty years, disdain against the Sangheili had immensely decreased but continued to be viewed with suspicion. The Requiem Campaign against the remaining Covenant remnants still left a bitter taste, but most, if not all Sangheili and other species' de facto governments under them were willing to change for the better.

His modern décor Oval Office were filled with news journalists and politicians facing the president, on the ground and on the second floor. Half a dozen cameras floated broadcast the event live to everyone, and mobile phone tweets from various news journalists kept updates on the minute. UNSC high-ranking officers and ONI's commander-in-chief (CINCONI) Admiral George Wesley, successor to Admiral Osman, were present to witness the signing of the soon-to-be-law. They stood firm behind the president's right, and the president's cabinet on the left.

Among of the most powerful men and women in the office is the Arbiter Thel 'Vadam himself with two councilors, Gin 'Lequn and Hesuv 'Azsok, escorted by two Sangheili Spec-Ops. They stood behind the president, between the military and the cabinet. The Unggoy and Lekgolo ministers, though not present on ground, watched above orbit in the diplomatic ship _Transcendence _with a cruiser to protect.

The signing is in Sydney, the heart of the United Earth Government (UEG). Over one and a half kilometers tall, the building housed the UEG itself and the Colonial Administrative Authority, and the Department of Commercial Shipping. A world with a population of half a million or smaller has two to four individuals representing. A world with half a billion people requires a minimum of ten representatives. Combine that with a total number of over three-hundred fifty worlds requires housing. Fortunately, the building exclusively gives rooming to those number of representatives, both above and below the surface.

Cameras flash blinding at every angle, highlighting Harrison's graying hair. He cautiously skimmed the bill's proposal, to make sure that everything was here and in order, and that there would be no mistakes before his name on paper would become official. With an approving nod, his black pen wrote the name in seconds, legibly signed in a smooth classical Renaissance style. As lines of ink end on the last stoke of his name, he lifted the pen and said, "It is done."

Noise of claps deafened the room. Harrison stood up from this chair, faced Thel and shook his hand

"Well done human," Thel congratulated

The room soon dissolved as people left to the hallways. 'Thel and his cortege said their farewells to the president and begun their departure. Few remained inside the office including the president, his cabinet, and the military officers.

"Wesley," Harrison said.

Wesley turned his attention. His left hand took the responsibility of holding the glass of wine, and the other leaped outwards to greet. "Mr. President," he said. Harrison welcomed the gesture and returned it back. "Anything you need sir?"

Harrison nodded his head and said, "I'm beginning to wonder why Hackett, Harper, and Shepard haven't arrived. I assumed they were running late"—his voice lowered—"but I know better than that. Any reason why?"

Wesley knew the president, easily read like anyone he had met. Behind his amiable character among the people is his shrewd aggressiveness. His political opponents during elections were so fiercely beaten by well-delivered facts and claims that they had stammered trying to defend themselves. Harrison won his presidency by a major landslide. Twice. On the surface, he showed a caring personality. One that the people loved to see.

Wesley knew the potential the president had inside him. But that doesn't mean Harrison would be one of his favorite presidents, let alone an individual. Nor he would stand behind him when something arises. He's just a politician and should stay in the realm of ploitics. Wesley is a man who can order to assassinate with one word while the universe expands around him as if nothing happened.

"Shepard's doing something important to do," Wesley replied impassively. "ONI related, sir. As for Hackett and Harper, they're missing for almost a week."

Harrison's face sewed with confusion and seriousness. "How are they missing for that long?"

"Last reports indicate they were heading to Mars, to the south pole relating what they'd found on Requiem. No update was received for over forty-eight hours. So far there is nothing but everyone is on it sir."

"Isn't Harper in ONI? Surely he could've handled this on a prowler."

"It's his decision. He assured that everything would be fine"—Wesley did a smug look—"however, Hackett and Harper can handle themselves. I didn't choose them for no reason to go on this mission."

Harrison sighed and nodded unwillingly. "Very well. Find them. On a side note, send Shepard my regards," he said.

"Will do."

...

**2600.22.8, 0704 hours (MST). UNSC _Cydonia, _Brig-10D. Inside an unknown Shield World.**

"So…"

Shepard's brow rose, and looked at her inmate. She and Kamarov were brought in by security moments after their fight in the mess hall. They didn't resist but some of the assailants did and they were put down hard.

Now in the brig, their block cell guarded by an energy shield, they did nothing but wait and listen to the hum of the shielding in front. Aside from the ship's startling earthquake earlier on they were rather curious as to what happened. They had hoped someone will get them out and do their job.

Shepard sat silently, fingers cuffed together above her lap. Her back leaned against the wall, slouching like an unmannerly child. Her eyes gazed at the blue shield that guarded her and the chief's freedom.

Kamarov stood pacing for the past ten or so minutes. Her curiosity was getting the better of her.

Her footing stopped. Sighing heavily, Kamarov sat onto the bench, creaking from the sudden drop of weight. She purposefully banged the wall with the back of her head. Her eyes closed and her face covered by both of the palm of her hands that then fell near her side blissfully.

"I want to get out of here. I want to learn what the hell is happening outside," her voice infuriatingly strained.

Shepard didn't feel so optimistic. "Won't be surprised if we actually ran into trouble. I just want to get this part over with."

"I imagine we're going to be here for a while," Kamarov said. "Might as well learn about one another, don't cha think?"

Shepard heavily sighed. "Fire away," Shepard blatantly said.

Kamarov's head leveled and gazed at the lieutenant. She brought up her left leg onto the bench and wrapped her arms around it like a Christmas present. "First, your early life," she said, "how was it?"

Shepard lightly tilted her head to the left and thought for a moment too long. She slouched and shrugged her shoulders. "Was an orphan during the Great War, or after it, I don't know," she said. "I lived in Melbourne, Australia for little over three years until I was adopted. It was hard during the Reconstruction. The remaining colonies did all they could to bring help to Earth. The economy inflated to an all-time high, crime rose tremendously, food scarcity, so on and so forth

"Luckily my mother knew some people and pulled some strings for us and her husband to get by. Jump a few years, I lived on starships, dozens on the Inner Colonies, and on orbital stations with my parents. I had an AI as a teacher for my education, blah, blah, blah. That's pretty much it. You?"

The brunette too shrugged her shoulders. "Born and schooled in Omsk, Russia. Raised with a single mother, never knew my father. I had only assumed she got knocked up when she got drunk or something like that. Nevertheless I had an extended family, and still to this day. They took care of me most of the time when I was a kid. After secondary school, I got accepted to a military academy on Luna.

"Another question: who adopted you? Or which one adopted you, to be precise?"

The end of Shepard's mouth where it didn't face the wall moved up slightly but unnoticeable to be seen. Her eyes faced the figure behind the shield. This little 'Twenty Questions' was coming to an end. "Sir."

Hackett gave a curt nod. "Commander."

Shepard and Kamarov stared at the admiral in shock and surprise. Commander?

"I—I'm sorry sir... What?"

"I'll explain on the way. C'mon, we need every man and woman available."

Hackett typed a code on a pad near the entrance to shut off the shield door. The shield vanished, Kamarov and Shepard stood to walk out into the large dull gray room. Hackett motioned his hand signaling the two Spartans to follow.

"I'll give you the brief version: Commander Osuna has been relieved from his duty," Hackett said. "He's a growing Section 8, and refused to seek medical attention. He's becoming rather unstable in the past few months and we can't have that on this ship or anywhere else. Shepard, you're the second-highest ranking Spartan on this ship, and as of now, temporarily promoted to commander."

"Why temporarily sir," Shepard asked.

"It is not in my position to fully promote an officer, only to recommend to such a position. Only during in a time of war I can do such a thing. If you do well—and I know you will—I'll recommend you to the brass. Plus, we're inside a planet God knows where with no communication to HIGHCOM, so I can't really do anything."

Shepard nodded. "Aye, sir."

"Anything else, admiral," Kamarov asked.

Hackett stopped at the tram entry door. With a push of a button, the door hissed open, and the three entered the cylindrical car. The tram sped up smoothly in an instant.

"Yes," Hackett replied. "Once you've suit up head to Bay-32A. Rubicon will be waiting with an ODST squad, Alpha 32 call-sign "Ares," to a Forerunner structure not far from here. They will be accompanying some of the scientists and their equipment in a separate pelican. Others will soon arrive at said place. Find what you can and update on the hour."

"Aye aye, sir," the women said in unison.

...

The lieutenant junior sat in the pelican, legs crossed over one another and playing a game on his handheld console with attentiveness. One thumb maneuvered the object and the other tapped buttons furiously. No sound was heard; the device was a mute, only text communicated with him. His heart raced as waves progressed further and further in the game. Sweat began to pore out through his forehead and palms to calm the heat. His hand lifted away from the buttons, allowing the clothed arm to wipe the sweat away.

His eye flinched at the constant stinging pain in his finger. He lifted it off the buttons and quickly shook the hand twice then resumed mashing the buttons. But it soon kept coming back

The game is his past time—a game of _Ace Combat_ kept his mind busy while drowning out the outside world, piloting a Longsword against endless Banshees and Seraphs. His left index finger fired missiles at one of the Seraphs, taking down its shields. The other finger fired the main gun at the alien hull. With the missiles reloaded, he fired and the ship blew into a ball of red-blue fire.

The lieutenant got bored waiting for the last two of Fire-team Rubicon to arrive. He heard those last two were women. He hadn't seen them but if they weren't Spartans he would be able to woo them, long enough to possibly get laid with one of the women. Or both. Perhaps a threesome. Size wouldn't matter as long you know how to use it. But fucking one of them under ten seconds would already break his brittle bones, and they were taller than him by half a meter-ish.

No women he'd met whether it was a colonial women or one of them attractive sailors had resisted his charm.

But he'd rather stick with colonial ladies. Young, hot colonial women—slim, beautiful, and a damn fine ass they'd be the work of God. One night, and that's all the time he needs. Sadly, no shore leave was available in the last three months. He wasn't able to be on Earth for a day before the ship departed for Requiem. He had to trim the pelican's drive output, calibrate the system's controls, and, off the records, personally installed a small computer that used the _Cydonia's_ internal Wi-Fi long distances away from the ship.

This pelican is his baby since he came onto the ship years back. Harley, he named her, was shot at again and again but had never been brought down. Her pilot handled her with care like if it was his one and only in the entire galaxy.

Light knocks on the cockpit door traveled through; the airman's concentrated mind awoke from its trance. His head flinched up and to the door. He sighed and quickly paused the game.

"What is it," he asked, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.

A heavy accented voice followed. "We're ready."

Irritated, his hands threw up in the air and rolled his eyes. He paused the game, short of disabling and painting a Covenant Corvette for fire support from the skies above.

"Always on the boss wave, every single goddamn time," he whispered angrily. He grabbed his helmet and donned it. His clear visor soon had the HUD on screen. Shields were up and nominal, weapons ready, and all health makers—his, the co-pilot, and the passengers—are good and green.

"Fire-team Rubicon and Ares squad, this is your wonderful pilot speaking. Please buckle yourselves in, put all trays into their upright positions. My job is to escort you and the eggheads on the other so-called 'pelican' to a lovely wonderful party from a hundred-thousand years ago. Please don't forget to bring some drinks for your _le chaperon_. No beer please."

"Shut it Joker," the co-pilot barked over the open com.

"I have mute button Dani," he replied with a chuckle. "Kilo 12, do you copy. Repeat, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Kilo 11. Ready when you are."

"Copy. Start the girls up, let's get this show on the road."

Joker initiated start-up controls, the pelican's engines growled as it started. The miniature holographic screen lit up above the panel, gold in color. His fingers danced freely on the keys like glissando of notes on the piano. In seconds it and the other pelican lifted off gently into the air and flew out in to the open sky. They turned starboard, passing between the _Cydonia_ and a _Marathon_-class cruiser, and flew at full speed towards their objective, the middle Forerunner structure.

"All systems nominal," Dani said over the internal com. "Board is green. She feels different Jeff. What'd you do?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Just a bit of an upgrade. Well, not really, made the thrusters less...bumpy when flying." He looked to the right, pretending that the co-pilot sat next him. "You don't like it?"

"No, I like it," she said.

Jeff smiled behind his helmet. He loved her voice, sweet as candy. She could make technical talk sound so much sexier. Jeff couldn't tell by her voice but she must admit it's impressive. If the pelican was the older model back in 2552, he would pull his big grin and show it in front of her face and laugh. He'd imagine that she would shove him or punch his shoulder. Dani is the one person he respected on this ship more so than the others.

"Kilo 11, how's the weather up there," Jeff asked.

He chuckled. "Good. One of the eggheads threw up on the floor. I'm not cleaning that." Jeff heard the guy chuckle again right after.

"Someone has to and it ain't me," Dani said. She quickly changed the subject and asked, "How long until we get to the objective?"

"Two minutes tops," Kilo 11 said. He then switched over the open coms and repeated through the two pelicans.

"Y'know Hendricks, if the Forerunners left something for us to inherit, why don't they just give us a list and say 'Here, use it wisely,'" another voice said.

"That's why they gave us the Janus Key Fred," Dani replied. "Surely you know that, right?"

"And this world just happened to not be on the list? Sure..."

"Maybe," Jeff said. "There's already enough aliens in the galaxy. At least we have Ripley and the marines to take of 'em."

"Who," Dani questioned confusingly.

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Nothing."

"Oi, heads up. Look at the size of that thing," Hendricks exclaimed.

The Forerunner structure quickly took the whole view in the cockpits. The pelicans looked like ants compared to it mega-structure. The two vehicles flew towards the hemispherical dome of the structure. Jeff looked at it and could tell it had some bruises bent the silver hull but light. But the most striking feature were the dozens of scattered scorch marks, perfectly clean black lines with fading outlines smearing downwards to the edge of the dome.

He could also see what seems to be weapon placements on the mid-section far below the dome. He counted six huge gun cannons and tens of dozens complimenting the defense. Thankfully, there weren't readings that any of the weapons were online. In fact, the readings says the entire structure seems to be entirely dormant. Nevertheless, it's best to exercise precaution.

"Joker," Hendricks called, "there seems to be a series of hangars below the dome. I found one that I think that's our best LZ so far."

Jeff nodded. "I already know that. Dani, signal everyone that we're landing in twenty."

The pelicans approached to one of the hangars. The aircrafts slowly turned facing the exit of the bay. Landing gears opened below the body of vehicles, and touched the ground with a hiss. The engines slowly slept to slumber. The bay doors opened behind Joker's pelican.

Rubicon and Ares stepped out into the vast, dark hangar. Outside light allowed around a hundred meters without VISR. There was nothing special inside except the typical geometric architecture of the walls visible far beside them.

The soldiers had their weapons out in the ready, and aimed at the darkness.

"Kilo 11 and Kilo 12, this is Rubicon Actual, we are on ground. It's a bit dark up ahead. Tell the scientists to hang for a bit. We're gonna see if we can turn on the lights."

"Kilo 12 to Rubicon Actual, we copy, over. Turn on the lights for the girls too."

"And find a bathroom will ya. I need to take a piss."

"Shut it Joker!"

Shepard's brow rose in amusement. "Will do Kilo 12. Rubicon out.

"Edi, how far to the door on the other side?"

"One moment please. I have accessed the system. It's three klicks away from our current position. Shepard, it appears we are in some sort of a fighter bay. If we were to land in another hanger a kilometer below us, we would need a warthog just to travel to and from the pelicans," she replied unimpressed.

Bristle whistled. "Damn, the Forerunners sure like to make things big, don't they," he joked.

"Curiously, how high is this room," one of the ODSTs asked.

"It's as tall as the UEG Headquarters on Earth, even the _Cydonia_."

"Goddamn..."

"Wait, the structure is dormant isn't it, Edi? How can you still access the systems," Kamarov questioned. "Joker's reading said it was."

"Apparently there is some power but it is too small to be detected. It must be run by a low-powered source, similar to your heart when the body is sleeping—just dormant but still alive, small amounts of energy to keep it running and functional. But..."—Edi paused for a second, a minute to her—"we can detect a low-powered building or a body. Shepard, this is not a structure, it's a ship! It is over a hundred kilometers long. What we are on is just a part of it. The rest is cased underneath the surface!"

Silence.

"Fuckin' Forerunners, man," an ODST said lowly. "Imagine if we fought against them."

"Edi, bring up the schematics. Lead us to the bridge," Shepard ordered.

"Already done, although it will take a while to get there."

"How long?"

"An hour."

Shepard sighed. "Well, fuck. Let's get moving everyone. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we go home."

* * *

**A.N: Sorry it took quite awhile to this. As a result I decided split this into two parts. It would be much easier if I did, and plus a few new characters were introduced. **

**So... Shepard and the gang found a Fortress-class vessel (oh my!) but they don't know it yet. Forerunners are sneaky lil' bastards. Title is a small hint of what to come in the second part so stay tuned! And as always, R&R!**


	6. Le Notice

Le Notice

Ok, a small update is in order. The story will be temporarily on hold due to some school stuff that I need to really catch up. There's a lot of artwork I need to do for AP Art and my principal wants me to draw a picture for him. So far I'm getting swamped with the number of works I have to do.

In addition, I will be fleshing out the remaining chapters before meeting the ME race(s). I will keep writing but not updating; however this your chance—you, the reader—to decide what will happen when the first arc of Knights of Cydonia (KoC) ends. I'm not lazy, I just have multiple outcomes of certain things, and this is one of them. Plus, I'm doing this for you, for your enjoyment.

The event you will choose will happen after the discovery of Shield World and the Charon Relay—and that's not really a spoiler since we, the readers, already know it's there, and there are some stories that are like that.

So, this will be kinda like Mass Effect where what you will choose matters in the story (*cough* ME3 ending *cough*) . You have two choices:

1. HIGHCOM will dispatch an expedition fleet through the relay and discovers a new system previously uncharted. They find a new alien species inside the system. However, the first contact scenario goes horribly sideways; UNSC defends the civilian ships while destroying few of the alien ships and then jumps back home when more alien reinforcements arrive. HIGHCOM (?) declares a state of war, UEG agrees, and then comes up with a plan called OPERATION: BLITZKRIEG. I won't go to far on this but you get the gist of it.

2. Said fleet goes through the relay with given coordinates and stumbles upon the Citadel and it's defense fleet. First contact with a collective race of the Citadel. Though a relatively uneasy meeting, UNSC sends a diplomat to meet with the Council and discuss politics (fuuuuhhhh). This is the most simple, plain, and possibly typical, plot point ever.

These are just the general ideas, synopsis if you will. Either one of these two will end the first arc of KoC. War or Peace. Renegade or Paragon.

Vote in the review section or PM with a "1" or a "2". Either way, voting ends on the 23rd of March this month. You have but time but hurry! Pick wisely, you don't get to vote twice. Guest reviews don't count due to a possibility of someone voting more than once. If you want to vote, simply sign up or log in—don't be lazy, how often does this stuff that you get to choose happens in a story? Comments/criticism on the choices? Feel free to do so, otherwise flaming will be moderated severely.

See you on the far side.

-Sgt Shoultz


	7. I Intend To Live Forever Part II

_I Intend To Live Forever... _Part II

"We're in."

Ares and Rubicon were close to the bridge aided by Edi's guidance. Without her, the teams would wander in the ship as if it were an endless labyrinth. Still, it felt like one. They had been walking for nearly an hour, sometimes running to a dead end where doors wouldn't open despite Edi's technological prowess and her research and understanding of Forerunner systems.

"How close are we Edi?"

"Beyond this door, Commander. Damn it, the door is system-locked. Give me a moment please."

Shepard observed the metallic door. If she could guess, it was the height of a three-story house back on Earth. Surely something this big of a door wouldn't be big as this without a reason, unless the Forerunners like it big. Then again, they could change the inner structure of the ship at will.

"Commander," Edi called. "I have unlocked it. It should open now."

Silence.

Everyone stood at awe of the ship's bridge.

An energy current flowed upwards in the middle of the room. Distinct hums emanated from it. The dome above was much like the ancient Pantheon. It had hundreds upon hundreds of squared coffers, each lined up in exact distances from each other. There were literally innumerable rows of coffers, all stacking up in reasonable spaces between each other where it stop short of touching each other. In the middle of the dome was a hole big enough to fit the length of a heavy frigate; and the energy current had filled the entire aperture, only to flow else where in the ship.

The teams stepped onto the long walkway and trekked to the center of the "bridge."

A sound of mechanical thumbs startled the group. They looked up and down to see tens of dozens of platforms ready to merge into one another. Other floorings had themselves digitized out of thin air, connecting other areas like bridges or mobile platforms.

Minutes had passed when Rubicon and Ares had reached the center. They were in front of light-blue current. It was unprotected—no coverings or shield readings at all.

"Commander," Stevens, one of the ODSTs, called out. "There's some sort of holo panel here."

The others gathered around it.

"Shepard, try that button there," Edi suggested.

Shepard hovered her finger over the supposed button. "This one," she asked.

"No. Up two and left one."

The finger changed positions. It then pressed said button and a map came up. It was the ship's internal mapping, and a red dot showing their location near the top of the ship. A variety of Forerunner glyphs hung near the display and twirled like a ballerina doing a fouette.

"Edi, we are in the bridge right?"

A pause. "Yes. We are on the 'mezzanine' level. The one we want to get to is at the top. Comparatively, it's ninety-nine 'stories' above us."

Shepard whistled in amazement.

"Oh fuck that," Bristle said lowly.

She wholeheartedly agreed with him and betted on her life that the others felt the same way. "Any easier way up Edi?"

"Through that."

Shepard was thrown off and thought for a bit too long. "What is 'th—" She then looked in front of her. _Crap_. "Oh... The current thingy, right?"

"Yes, the 'current thingy'," Edi mimicked. "It's a lift beam...well partly it is."

"What do you mean 'partly'," Shepard asked, annoyed.

"I don't know." Edi sounded exasperated. "Just trust me okay? Trust the blondie, young padawan. I'll get you through this."

Shepard just shook her head with an attitude. "Alright. Any other POIs?"

"A few," Edi replied.

"Alright, we'll split up, groups of two. Kamarov, with—" Shepard saw the Spartan walking slowly dozens of meters away. The others turned to see and wondered what has happened.

"Where is she going," Jakob thought to himself, a question that everybody wanted to ask.

Shepard started to follow and called two other ODSTs to come with her whilst the others had search the bridge. Edi had given them several POIs to search in the meantime.

...

Shepard, Stevens and Howard caught up to Kamarov. She picked up her pace when they've gone through one of the huge bulkhead door rather quickly. They wondered what's really going on with her. If she was leading somewhere important, Shepard decided to risk not stopping her. But she wanted to know _where_ she's going.

"Chief, get back here," Shepard ordered calmly.

"I.. can't," Kamarov said, her voice strained. "Someone is calling me... I need to know."

She stopped momentarily, looking at her surroundings. Voices in her head all sounded like one person, muffled in some ways and words overlapping one another. Kamarov tried to speak in her head only to have the voice attempting to comfort her, to not worry and just do what it wants.

_Right here..._

"It's close. Here." Kamarov turned left to face a door. It didn't automatically open. She searched for some kind of switch or a key to open it.

"Commander," Howard whispered, "To be honest, we really don't have time to fuck around."

"Calm down, it won't be long."

A voice in her head told her something. Kamarov ran her finger along the middle of the door where the two pieces connected. A sound of a mechanical lock broke into the air. The door split open and slid on the metallic floor.

Kamarov walked into the room. Shepard and the others followed.

The room was more of a conference room, if Shepard had to compare. What it was lacking is a table in the middle, that is if Forerunners would ever use one. Instead, there were small pillars on the corners, an overhead lighting dimmed down, and four angled arms with its end pointing at one another over the middle. A white circle glowed on the floor, and it merely glowed nothing but light.

Stevens looked around. "This is it?"

"Great. An empty room. Fan-fuckin'-tastic." Howard shook his head in disgrace.

"Chief, are you sure this is the right place," Shepard asked. Doubting was the least of her worries now. This could be a trap or worse.

Kamarov nodded and muttered an 'uh-huh.' "This is where it leads to," she said.

The trio walked towards the middle. Nothing for the moment.

"Nice to finally meet you humans," a male voice said out loud with an accent unknown to Shepard. The voice wasn't amplified, it sounded normal like an average citizen and spoke right in their heads.

The group aimed their rifles at different areas of the room.

"Who are you," Shepard exclaimed. "Where are you?!"

The voice laughed. "So demanding. You humans haven't changed that one bit of yourselves. I'm a Forerunner by the way." It chuckled then calmed, and said smoothly, "Lower your weapons and I'll reveal myself. I am unarmed, so there is no reason for hostilities."

The two ODSTs looked at the commander. Her head nodded. "Alright, we'll have it your way."

Kamarov approached to Shepard's side. "Shepard," she said over the private com. Her voice sounded shaky. "That's the voice."

Shepard nodded. "It's alright. Make sure your blade is ready."

Kamarov nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hello."

They all turned to the greeting. There he was, a Forerunner in armor. A living Forerunner that so far hasn't tried to commit genocide against Humanity.

The Forerunner snapped his fingers. Small rounded hardlight seats appeared above the floor. He sat on it and gestured his arm outwards. "Please sit," he said. "I won't tell you the whole story but it's quite a mouthful to trim it all down."

Everyone hesitated. Not wanting to be rude, they all sat down and adjusted to be comfortable. It was not the best seat in the galaxy but it was something to rest on.

The Forerunner sighed. He looked at everyone and slightly shook his head. "It's best if we look as we are. Please take off your helmets."

Everyone followed the Forerunner's command while his face mask disassembled itself into dozens of smaller pieces like removing a puzzle one by one. The mask disappeared at the base of the neck cover.

Everyone eyes widened. They were surprised how human he looked, or close to looking like one. His face looked pale with a silver hue to the skin color. His face contoured finely but as whole showed weariness. The nose protruded slightly outwards, appearing small and child-like.

His small mouth smirked. "Now we all know what we look like. Pardon my manners. I haven't fully introduced myself. For the sake of simplicity due to my name, you may call me The Doctor."

"Just that," Stevens said.

The Doctor nodded. "I am a Lifeforger, the second-highest below Lifeshaper, among other Lifeworker rates. We typically work with Lifeshapers but we can work in isolation. We Lifeforgers create, observe, protect, and codex life in the galaxy. My name is, or I should say, was known among the ecumene, the Forerunner empire, but not as known to such figures like the Librarian or the ur-Didact."

"Wait, there's more than one Didact," Kamarov asked.

"Yes, there was. I won't go into it. That's a whole different story to tell."

"The Librarian told us to find someone to help us," Shepard spoke. "Are you...that person."

He nodded. "I was the one who brought your fleet here with help of my own ancilla. My apologies if you can no longer communicate with your superiors. It coincides with this world's protocols. This place doesn't exist but only to me and Librarian and one other. And this is my ship, the _Morning Passages_. Unfortunately, my entire crew was killed by someone, but no worries, that person is long gone now.

As you may heard from the Librarian herself, it is my job to guide humanity to their once ancient powerful empire." The Doctor paused. He took the human's reaction as confusion. "I trust humanity has found the Absolute Record, am I wrong?"

"We did," Kamarov responded. "We're still decrypting Forerunner writings. It's a bit slow so far."

"Well, then I have something for you then. Human with...um"— he pointed at his head and twirled his finger—"red...hair, please hand me your ancilla."

Shepard hesitated for short moment but removed the chip from the socket. She got up from her seat and walked towards the Doctor and handed him the chip.

"Stay," he said as his hand grabbed the chip. The Doctor stood from his seat and walked to the back of the room.

Stevens faced to Howard. "He said that we had an empire way before," he said softly. "I thought we were built from the ground up."

"If we were, how are we here? Sounds complete bull to me."

The Doctor heard the banter. "We fought," he replied, "for a thousand years, give or take. System after system, battle after battle, we fought and bled in our most destructive war before the Flood. I was there at the time, fending you humans while I attempted to save my people, which I did most of the time. One after another, I stopped you to save hundreds upon hundreds of people, even sabotaging your ships. That wasn't enough.

"You lost when the war ended and we devolved you to the Stone Age, figuratively and literally speaking. When the Halos fired, humanity had to start all over again."

The Doctor summoned a pedestal before him.

"I thought you were a Lifeforger, not a soldier," Howard stated.

"That's how my name came to be," he replied. "A protector of life down to my last breath even if it means going into battle." The Doctor inserted the chip.

"Ancilla, go into the ship's linguist mainframe. There should be a file titled 'Human-Forerunner Transliteration and Miscellaneous'. Download a copy and keep it."

"Already done. Odd, it's in Latin."

The Doctor grinned. "I was behind in time. Oh humans, how much you have grown..." He pulled the chip from the pedestal and waltzed back to the group.

The Doctor continued to talk. "We Forerunners didn't know why you humans were so aggressive. We simply thought it was innate. But it was the Flood that became the reason why you humans fought against us: to protect worlds from the parasite. And you did. When we fought against it, we barely could protect and fight at the same time. We were unprepared."

The Doctor handed the chip back to Shepard. "What your ancilla downloaded contains every word needed for translation from the Absolute Record. It has been updated ever since the ecumene, after numerous translations. Unfortunately, it still in Latin but your ancillae can help. Bring it to whom it ever may concern."

"I have one question," Shepard said as she retrieved the chip. "Kamarov. She said you were calling her while we were away from the bridge." She then looked at her. "And she knew Latin but never used it."

"Your question is?"

"How is that possible?"

The Doctor closed his eyes and faced the ground. He sighed heavily. "Kamarov, is it?"

She nodded.

He began to approach her. "I have something to give. However, it's your decision to do so."

"What is it," Kamarov asked.

"Memories. Memories of a near-thousand year lifetime, my dear. I have only kept some in you just in case, but they are in a subconscious level. You'll regain them in addition to your present memories."

He presented an object, a small disk that it can fit on a child's palm. It appeared metallic and shiny like it was brand new. As it was a Forerunner object, it had geometric lines and carvings on it. When Kamarov grabbed it, it felt cold through her gloves then immediately warm. She flipped it over, seeing a strange glyph carved on the back. She looked up to the Doctor which he instantly took as a question.

"Your name," he said. "It's in Forerunner. You don't know it yet but when you do, you'll know. Too much to say for now."

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Humans" he called to all them, "this planet is a multitude of many things. However, the time to fully use it is not now."

There were mutters and looks of confusion at the Forerunner. He understood them. "Use what you had found so far in this place but that's all you will get for the time being. Here, take this."

The Doctor lifted his hand and something began to digitize above the palm. The pyramid-like object fell onto the palm. It looked like the Luminaries used by the Old Covenant except smaller and more compact. Two smaller pyramids supported a sphere in the middle and another laid on top with a small circle on one of the faces. It appeared grayer than most typical artifacts except the middle, where it was more clearer and transparent. He then flinged it to the front of the group.

"That is a Peverell, an object we use that communicates in real-space and slipspace. When it glows white, that means the ones you must fight are already here. If it glows red, this world's monitor must see you when you are readily available. Blue...the Halo Array is primed and ready to fire.

"The ones you must fight are not here yet, but there is one. A vanguard of race that has lived for a millennium. You must find it, and destroy it before it can lay a larger path of destruction that has plagued this galaxy. The Librarian said I came to help, and I will. Your fleet too must go. Your stay here for hours is days outside this world."

"What about all this stuff here," Howard asked, his voice strained.

"The ship is functioning but she can barely fly anymore. Her back is paralyzed. Any more strain and she will break."

_'Wow,' _Shepard thought surprisingly. _'Hard to believe something nearly took this ship out of combat.'_

"Everything here will be available once the time is right," the Doctor continued. "But for now we must go."

...

**2600.27.9, 1543 hours (MST). On board Home Fleet's flagship ****_Verithin_****. **

It was almost an entire week since Hackett and Harper had disappeared over Mars. Their disappearance was kept hidden from the public including their families thanks to ONI's Section 3. What they had found at Requiem and in the Shield World is deemed classified among ONI, the first-contact team and Edi, Hackett and Harper and HIGHCOM.

The Doctor had given Rubicon and Ares coordinates to return to their home. There they encountered a makeshift portal near one of the planets inside the Shield World. For once it had gone smoothly, no screaming and electronics going haywire. Once they had gone through they returned back to Earth, a thousand kilometers away from the defense grid.

It was quite a shock, to say the least. Twelve contacts journeyed out of slipspace without warning nearly tripped the wire. It nearly gave the one of the admirals a heart attack when he almost ordered to fire at the fleet. He didn't even account for the IFF tags.

But all of them were home.

Well, most of them.

In one of the most powerful human ships is the _Verithin_, a ship just under six and a half kilometers but nearly double the firepower of a Super MAC's cannon in her two main guns combined. It is the current flagship of the Fifth Fleet, _and _ the entire Home Fleet above Earth during wartime (not including the orbital platforms.) The _Blades of Winter_, _Verithin_'s sister ship, is currently stationed at Reach, and colloquially like the latter, is given the same position.

Hackett and Harper sat in a white oval conference room, lateral to the main bridge. Their hands neatly coupled together on top of the table, circular and black like the night sky. To the crew, the room was labeled the "Occulus" due to its resemblance of the human eye.

With them was Rubicon and Ares squad sitting next to Hackett and Harper, respectively. Not because one belong to the other, rather because it representable in a way. They were all in their dress whites.

The room felt quite cold like in winter time and bright too. However, that's what they felt. And it almost felt as if someone or something was watching them. Almost.

At the other end of the table is the captain of the ship, Admiral Hannah Shepard, and her Executive Officer (XO), a young man with ginger hair. The admiral decided to talk to them before the brass would lay their hands on them and riddle them out.

She didn't include the pilots who escorted them. There was no reason for them to be in front of the jury.

Admiral Shepard, despite her age, looked in her mid-thirties as if the stresses and pressure of being in said rank hadn't withered her down. But her eyesight had. It wasn't genetics—and if it were, her eyes would be fixed by the time she found out. It was old age, plain and simple. Still, that hasn't stopped her from doing her job _and_ being one of the most feared in the entire fleets. If someone fucked up and Shepard had call them, better pray they make it through.

Still, no one could beat Parangosky at the fear and intimidation levels but Shepard made Osman look like an annoying chihuahua. That, and her intellectual prowess at heart. The only person comparatively bested her, by opinions of other people in the military and in ONI, was CINONI Wesley.

Hannah cleared her throat and cleared her dark bangs away from eyes. She grabbed her datapad from the table and pretend to read through it one last time. "So, on top of it this, that all happened," she asked with her glasses' tip at the corner of her mouth.

Hackett nodded. "Yes ma'am. Our arrival at the Shield World was unprecedented. When we entered, we had no communications to the outside world."

"Plus, our slipspace drives wouldn't work," Harper added. "When we returned back, it was up and working again."

"A Faraday cage, most likely," Hannah's XO said. "Though interrupting a slipspace drive like that _and_ blocking communications would be considered entirely impossible for the former."

"Then again, it's the Forerunners we are talking about," Hannah reassured him. "Speaking of Forerunners, did any of you encountered any at all?"

The admirals looked briefly at the commander. She too look back at them.

Hannah immediately caught that. "Commander," she said coldly, "or should I say, Lieutenant. Care to mention what you found?"

She remembered the Doctor's last words. _'Remember, I didn't exist. Do what you can to cover this up. Kamarov will help you.'_

Shepard quietly gulped. "Yes we did," she said calmly as she could. "But it was rather an obscure meeting. Suffice to say, it was a holographic image with an intelligence of an AI or similar. It answered our questions and told us what we need to do."

"Which is what exactly?" Hannah's green eyes nearly poisoned Shepard to death. Her mother's stare was all unforgiving when she is completely serious. It's partly the reason why she is an admiral—a tough exterior and cold logic that tromped the other higher-ups. Shepard couldn't believe how many people her mother had demoted down to the lower officer ranks.

Shepard didn't really like her when she was young, even into her teens. It was more of a love-hate relationship between the two. Her father got along real well together even they had less time than her mother. Stupid army. Nevertheless, she loved him and her mother too despite the bitter times between them.

Kamarov tapped her commander's thigh three times, a signal typically signed with a hand closed and the first two fingers open flat in a quick stabbing motion. It meant 'I got it' or 'I can handle this', depending on the situation.

Kamarov took over Shepard's position. "It was vague, admiral. He did mention that something was coming."

"What is?"

The commander noticed the change in her tone when asking Kamarov a question. _'__Typical mother...'_

"Unknown. The Librarian also mentioned a similar statement. They both mentioned a race of untold millennium is coming back. We don't know who they are but they are coming back soon. Also, the holographic Forerunner mentioned something. A 'relay' encased in ice near Pluto. We believe it's Charon since it is the only object near enough to be evident."

"Really," Hannah growled lowly, gazing at Shepard for not mentioning that one piece of fact. "I see..."

Shepard hit Kamarov's thigh lightly. She perhaps made it worse with her mother.

Kamarov mentally apologized. If only Shepard could've caught that.

Hannah looked at her XO. He gave a sympathetic gesture. The admiral sighed and nodded her head slightly. "Very well. I will report this finding to ONI of this mysterious race and this...relay beyond Pluto." '_They can scour our known space all their lives until they die of boredom,' _she thought harshly. "The brass will be here any moment. I suggest you get some bit of rest. It will be long and arduous. Dismissed."

All of them rose from their seat, save the admiral. As the room nearly emptied, Hannah asked Shepard to stay, which she unwillingly obliged.

Shepard stepped away from the door as it shut closed and walked towards the table. Hannah stared at her immensely. Shepard knows this. Pep talk.

"Victoria Bellerose Shepard."

Shepard groaned quietly. Her eyes drifted._ Yep, pep talk._

Hannah stood from her center chair and strolled to Shepard's front. She leaned against the corner edge of the table and crossed her arms.

Shepard didn't bother standing at attention. She could barely make eye contact let alone for a few seconds. Her hands behind her back fiddled and started to gleam with sweat.

"Athena, close all communications and recordings to and from this room. You are exempted." Hannah then faced her daughter. "Perhaps sending you on that ship was a mistake," she said lowly to her. "And _you_ of all people became commander?" Hannah's voice rose and scoffed. "Shit, I'd rather make a grunt a commander. I can demote you right now if I could. After all, it's only temporarily, right?"

Shepard's eyes widened for a second. Her heart was stomped by those words. "I'm...sorry, mother," she muttered. Her eyes were beginning to swell up but she held it back.

Hannah waved it off. "Still you came back. That's a good thing. Lucky for you, I got you something." Her hand dwelled into her pocket and pulled out a black square case. "I believe you are do for a promotion. Congratulations commander."

Shepard's eyes flew back and forth at the case and her mother. Her hand gently grabbed the case and opened it. There it was, the silver seven-leaf clover.

Shepard stood at attention, eye-to-eye with her mother, and snapped a salute. "Thank you admiral."

Hannah returned informally, a two-finger salute. "I know you'll be a good commander. There's rumors of a new ship being built, a prototype successor to the Prowlers. Do good enough and we'll see making you one as captain of those ships."

"Who else would be a lieutenant," Shepard asked. "I took Osuna's position."

Hannah shrugged and grinned. "I dun' know. I'll find someone else, maybe Hackett will. Though I do like that chief of yours. Kamarov, is it? Maybe her. We'll see." She lifted herself off the table and approached Shepard with her arms outward.

Hannah laid her head against Shepard's chest and hugged her tightly as she could try. She still always felt short when confronting her daughter. Before it was no problem. Shepard, taken somewhat by surprise, hesitated for moment. The thought quickly dissolved and returned the hug.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I was still in my character. Still, it's nice to see you back home," Hannah whispered. "A week is still too long."

Shepard chuckled. "A minute is too long on the ground, mother. And I've known you long enough to be that way. Still, it was a bit too mean."

"Meaner that usual?"

"Yes."

Hannah lightly laughed. "Well, maintaining a rep like mine takes _hard_ work. Well, we should go. Brass could come at any minute."

* * *

**A.N: The name for Doctor is long (and I haven't made it up yet) so I wanted to avoid it. I didn't want to mention him as a Promethean because, well, THEY'RE FREAKIN HUGE. Plus I want him to be built and flow into the story quite nicely. And his name was thought _way_ long ago and it felt fitting to the story so sorry for a bit of cliche-ness (and I _did_ mention there would be references in this story, you know.) I don't know if I should include Javik the Trollethean. Too many aliens already. **

**Not to mention we get to meet Shepard's mom. Yay!**

**We're nearing the end of the first part of the story. Hang in there! And as always, read and review! It helps quite a lot!**

Fire team Rubicon Performance Review (Adm. Jack Harper)

**Full Name: ****Hokaritakai, ****Monty**

**Service Number: S-****167**

**Unit: NAVSPECWAR/GROUPTHREE/RUBICON**

**P(MOS): SO**

**Enlistment Date: XX-XX-25****88**

**Location: CLASSIFIED**

**Gender: M**

**Birthplace: ****Kobe, Japan**

**Birth Date: ****6****/****31****/25****60**

**Performance: ****Quiet. Quiet than most, actually. However, he's vocal about his opinions when asked. He's an exceptional marksman, besting the top marksmen in the other branches. Cool under pressure. Hogs all the kills I might add. Interactions with non-Spartans shouldn't concern your worries. **

**Comments: ****Good poker face (comparable with Shepard's). Not very sociable when off-duty; he keeps to himself most of the time. Very smart and tactical. Recommended. **


	8. The Shot Heard Round the Galaxy

_The Shot Heard 'Round the Galaxy_

**2600.30.8, 1840 hours (MST). Near Luna. On board UNSC _Infinity_, bridge.  
**

Shepard recalled that during the "trial" with HIGHCOM three days back, today would be the start of finding this relay. Dozens of scientists and researchers, including John Smith, were hired; a small escort fleet consisting of three frigates, a destroyer, and cruiser were included; and few research vessels were brought in. In all that, nothing beats the ship she was in: the _Infinity,_ the flagship of the expedition fleet.

Her team was temporarily deployed to the ship. She didn't mind being on the ship but wondered why she was in charge of the Spartans. It was a conflict between ranks between her and the Spartan commander on the this ship. In essence, the latter was redeployed on another ship for the time being. Palmer didn't like that.

Shepard was in her under-suit and trousers. She stood in the bridge minding her own business, leaning and looking over the holo-table at nothing but a gridded blue screen.

"Bored, Spartan," a voice rang out.

Shepard turned her head behind her. Admiral Thomas Lasky, and he still looked young when she last saw him.

"Admiral," Shepard greeted.

"War Games are available, y'know," he suggested as he approached to the side of the table. "Show these boys and girls how it's done. I've seen your last game before. Pretty impressive I have to say."

Shepard nodded in acknowledgment. "Thanks, but I not in the mood right now."

Lasky moved to the side across from her. "How've you been. It's been, what...a decade? More than a decade?"

Shepard comically grinned. "You're getting old," she said jokingly. "At least two decades. You were there during the N7 ceremony when you gave me my certificate."

Lasky's face expressed an 'Ah, yes' and replied, "How are the rest? Still in contact with them?"

Shepard shrugged. "From time to time."

Lasky's voice turned solemn."My condolences for the rest, including Al—"

"Don't need it admiral," Shepard interrupted. She smiled. "I'm fine."

Lasky nodded understandably. "Then it's best if we get started on our work now. Ned, bring up preliminary reports."

Roland popped up next to him. His hands were behind his back.

"There's a new one," Roland said. "Although, it's about the same"—his rough voice lowered—"but interesting. Huh."

"Bring it up," Lasky said as he laid his hands on the table.

Roland nodded and did as he asked.

A display of Pluto went up on the table and it's "moon" Charon orbiting next to it. Pluto looked like rounded potato with pot holes almost everywhere, and Charon was just a lump of ice with jagged edges.

"ONI Prowlers _Premier _and _Yorkshire_ and a few research vessels found an object under the ice object, Charon," Roland reported. He pointed at the moon. The image magnified and showed the vessels near it. He continued. "There were theoretical attempts on how to remove the ice without damaging the artifact inside. Until then, no efforts were made."

Shepard caught that last part. "What do you mean 'until then'," she asked.

"Something happened. One of their AIs managed to activate by accident while trying to search for some sort of systems. The object started to glow; it appears we've woken it."

"When did this happen," Lasky asked.

"Approximately six hours ago. The ice is breaking apart. Only twenty-two percent of it is left as per report."

Lasky nodded in satisfaction. "Very well. Is the fleet ready?"

"They are waiting on your go, my captain."

"Have the fleet jump on my mark. Helm, spin up the drive."

The fleet clustered together a half kilometer apart and activated their slipspace drive, punching a hole through the fabric of space and time. Black holes expanded in front of the bows; the ships dived right in and the portals collapsed as they entered.

In mere minutes the fleet exited near Charon, only ten kilometers away from the diminishing object, and drifted towards it.

Chunks of ice floated near by the artifact. Lasky could make out the object despite it was still covered in ice. It had two curved metal arms similar to a tuning fork. Two sets of antenna-like poles protruded at the top of the curved arm, just above the middle. A light blue glow emanated in the center; two gyroscopic rings frozen in place but then broke free, flinging pieces of ice into space. One ring revolved over one another as if it spun on its axis.

Remains of ice were partial, only few were on the arms.

"Roland, how big is that object," Lasky asked.

"The two arms are fifteen kilometers each. The smaller rings in the middle are five kilometers in diameter."

Shepard's brow rose in bewilderment. "Fifteen? A super-carrier can hold that in its main bay and still manage to fit in a few more ships," she said, pointing at the image of the artifact on the holo-table.

"What else can you tell about the object," Lasky asked.

Roland paused for a moment. "The center—the core of the object—is...amusing. I have searched through known elements, both human _and _Forerunner, and I can't find any that the object is using." Roland looked at the admiral. "It appears we have found a new element, sir," he said dully, "though—hang on..."

Lasky looked at him. "What is it?"

"It's asking something. More like asking for coordinates and...mass transit."

Shepard and Lasky looked at each other and then at the AI with concern.

"Should I proceed sir," the AI asked.

Lasky looked at Shepard. She reluctantly agreed.

"Very well," he said. "Lock in coordinates and mass. Notify the other ships to do the same."

"It's done," Roland responded a second later.

The fleet approached the artifact while the prowlers watched, maintaining their position just a dozen kilometers away.

The object's core erupted blue electricity-like arms striking at each ship's engines. It's inner rings revolved at a tremendous rate. The arms disappeared for a split-second before the dozens of ships were sent away, leaving only a white-blue corridor in their wake.

In what would've taken the time to travel to where they are now were less than five seconds total. Faster than their FTL speeds. It was instantaneous and remarkable, yes, but that was all there was to it. Roland figured out it was of a terminal gate. A relay sounded more fitting considering they exited near an identical one. If there was two, and if they were linked together but also to other similar objects, just how many are there?

He had tried to figure this out. The fleet had exited some hundreds of light years from Sol. In slipspace, the time to travel would've taken at least a minute or two at best. This relay propelled them in less than five seconds in the same amount of distance.

Why would the relay needs mass to transit? Unless it uses mass of the ship to propel it far enough to its destination. That is a likely hypothesis, Roland thought.

The AI materialized in the room, exactly ten seconds after the jump through the relay. He could see there was a bit of a panic in a bridge.

"Problem, admiral," Roland asked.

Lasky turned to him. "We're a bit jumpy. That, and twenty unknown contacts are coming our way."

"Ah yes, now I see. Sensors indicate fast-moving objects in-system and will arrive in less than three minutes."

"First contact," Shepard wondered.

"If so, prep the First Contact package," Lasky ordered. "Have all ships on Combat Alert Charlie just to be safe."

Roland nodded and dematerialized.

"Sensors, what can you tell about these objects?"

"They're spacecraft for sure and are giving off some crazy readings. Ships sizes range from a frigate to cruiser size; their largest craft is around a kilometer long."

"Sir," one of the officers called out. "They're here, ten kilometers out and maintaining position."

Shepard could see white specks in the dark space. Sensor imagery had finished scanning the ships and uploaded its findings on the holo-table. There were thirty of these ships in different lengths and size; two obvious different aesthetic designs—a possibility of two different species. One was a clunky box-fighter with enlarged wings; there were different lengths of the same design. The other was more ethereal, elegant yet fearsome. There weren't any diversity in these ship designs. Maybe they like more that way—it's simple enough to construct.

Oddly enough, all the ships were under a kilometer. The largest ships, designated as H-1, H-2. H-3, and J-1 and J-2, for the "fighter" type vessels and the odd shield-looking vessels respectively. The others were the size of a frigate or a corvette. They stayed in formation similar to the phalanx.

"Admiral," Roland called as he reappeared on the table. "I have further scanned these vessels. It seems they use the same element as the one found in the relays."

Lasky shot a confused look. Were they the ones who built them? He looked at the images in front of him. No, it doesn't seem likely, he thought. The relays looked too smooth. These ships were different. "These ships and the relays found, they're not the same."

"Quite so." Roland responded. "It's possible they'd found this type of technology and reverse-engineered it, or something else similar. I highly doubt these races are the makers of the relays."

"What should we do now," Shepard asked.

Lasky thought for a moment.

"Record this message and then send," Lasky simply ordered. "Start message: Greetings. I am the captain of this ship, Admiral Thomas Lasky of the United Earth Space Command—the military, exploratory, and scientific force of the United Earth Government. My species is called human. I hope we could learn more from each other and extend our friendship between us. If you slap away the hand of peace, we will not hesitate to use force." He paused. "Our people have already seen enough war to last generations. Please accept our generosity. End message."

"Message sent," the com officer said.

"Deliver our First Contact package." His voice lowered. "Now all we do is wait."

Ten minutes had passed.

Another twenty past that. No response from the other side.

Lasky was getting worried. No, the whole fleet was getting worried.

This meeting was entirely unexpected. Lasky did not want another war with another alien race or races. Even worse, he did not want to be responsible for starting one. The wait was killing him.

"Sir," the sensors officer called. "I'm getting high energy readings from J-1 and J-2."

The _Infinity _shook like a San Francisco earthquake. The rounds mushroomed on the bow. It's shields shimmered gold in a blink of an eye, brushing off the rounds.

"The hell was that," Lasky shouted.

"The ships have fired on us admiral," Roland reported. "I'm getting high energy readings all across the alien fleet."

"All ships, return fire. Tell the civilian ships to jump to a safe location."

Rounds exchanged from both fleets flew across space. Missiles traveled through no-man's land, shot down by the aliens defenses. The alien fleet dispersed, some were unfortunate to be hit by the massive rounds shot by the humans. Their formation was clear: pawns in the front and heavy-hitters in the back. Hostile fighters appeared in the table. Lasky ordered their own to engage as well.

Lasky wished he had a carrier. There didn't seem enough Broadswords and Longsword fighters.

"Roland, bring up our CIWS, take out as many fighters as you can."

"Bringing the guns online, sir."

Six against thirty; one for every five alien ships. Lasky could pull out his hidden card right now: the ten docked frigates in the ventral bay and even this battle out, but he decided against it for now. He wants to know what this enemy is capable of, their weapons and shields, and their tactics.

He looked at the holo-table as the ship continued to rock. Nine enemy ships were destroyed in a span of around a minute, one was critically injured and another apparently dead in the water.

His side fared better. The others are holding well though their shields are dropping steadily.

The alien's forward lines advanced to Lasky's position.

Lasky looked at the holotable. "Helm, bring us about thirty-five degrees starboard, ten degrees up. Weapons, charge up the MACs and ready Hellfire missile pods D-3 through F-2. Lock the MACs to the largest ships in our front."

"Aye sir. MACs are primed and locked, missiles hot n' ready," Auston announced.

"Fire missiles."

"Aye, firing."

The missiles flew towards their targets. Some had made it through and had have enough punch to lower their shields even more.

"Fire MAC 1 at H-3. Fire MAC 2 at H-1. Fire MAC 4 at H-2."

Their targets were quickly decimated, and those who were unfortunate enough to be also shot at exploded into fragments of their former selves.

Lasky had noticed they were launching torpedoes in a linear fashion when they closed in on the UNSC. _What __is__ this, World War Two_, he thought. The CIWS can easily shoot them down like swatting a fly. But they traveled rather fast and some hit the ships. They glowed blue too—same as the unknown element perhaps.

On the other hand, their missiles hadn't once touched the ships. Roland had told him they used lasers to shoot them down as some sort of anti-missile defense system. Fortunately, they were only using Hellfire missiles, standard usage in this range. They were slow and cumbersome but packs a hell of a punch. They made the Archers feel like throwing water-balloons in space.

"Lieutenant Auston, switch missile armament to Jericho throughout the fleet. Fire pods A-1 through D-6 at all hostile ships," he ordered the weapons officer.

"Aye sir," he said. "Jericho missiles are hot, firing now!"

Hundreds of missiles erupted from the Infinity and her escorts, leaving white trails behind them.

A Jericho missile has two stages. Instead of sending an individual missile, it jettisons its protective casing halfway through their travel and releases ten individual warheads. In less than three-hundred meters in proximity, the warheads use their last remaining fuel to sprint towards a target before it has a chance to shoot it down.

The alien's defenses were overwhelmed by the number of missiles. What missiles didn't get shot down impacted the shields, stacking impressive damage and clouding their targets in blooms of red and white.

"Six enemy ships are destroyed, admiral," Roland reported. "However there are nine left. Might I suggest starting the final drive?"

Lasky wholeheartedly agreed.

"Lieutenant Austen, give word to release the frigates and fire at will," Lasky ordered.

"Aye sir. Frigates are away."

The alien's shields stressed from the surprise barrage of the ten new contacts. Six of them had no shields left and were instantly destroyed by the sheer power of the MACs. The rounds still retained enough energy and impacted three more ships, one of them were instantly destroyed and one disabled that was hit at the center of the ship.

"Sir, one ship has escaped," Lieutenant James said.

"Damn," Lasky cursed lowly. "Do we know where they went?"

"Not far; they're limping with an injured leg."

"Leave them. At least they know who they're dealing with. If they want more, we'll tear them a new one."

"Admiral," Roland said, "there's one more ship in the area. It's disabled and I could download data from its database. Could give a scare if we want, y'know, with a laughing Jolly Roger."

Lasky considered his options. "This isn't Independence Day Roland...do it. Commander get your Spartans ready and board that ship. See who we are up against."

Shepard saluted. "Aye sir."

* * *

**Phew. This chapter took awhile... Well, the first battle between the UNSC and the Citadel races are done, next is the whole First Contact War (or second contact in humanity's case, whatever.) Thanks, and R&R!**


	9. Call To Duty

_Call To Duty_

**A.N: This is a filler chapter (kinda, not really) as I continue to work out the kinks for the First Contact War. A bit of action too. Enjoy 'n review!**

* * *

**2600.3.10. Boston, Washington-Boston Megalopolis, URNA, Earth.**

Noon. Fall. Cold.

Even in the car with the heater on max, it's still cold. Lawson's breath was visible like smoke from a cigarette. Her "winter" uniform had somewhat helped with her shivering to a slow calm but still breathed heavily like after a workout. Her leather gloves were off, on top of the datapad on the passenger seat, surviving in the fight between clod and warmth.

She lifted one of her hands off the wheel to adjust her scarf around the back of her neck. Her fingers fiddled against the strands of black hair, pushing her hair away with effort.

Not many walked on the ground today. That equates to traffic. A lot of traffic clogging up the main streets of Boston. Thankfully, she was smart to drive on the side roads and would only go to the main roads if needed. Snow fell to a foot high today, less than yesterday.

If she had the guts to walk out into the cold she would've parked somewhere and done it. But no, nature decided today would be below forty-degrees in Fahrenheit.

After the _Infinity_'s first contact with other alien races, the media had catched on the event. Of course, ONI's Section II had tweaked the story up a bit to their favor. One of the frigates in the fight was wounded lightly, to which ONI said that all ships fought unscathed; and all hostile ships were destroyed and it's information taken, rather than one had miraculously escaped and the other disabled ship had nearly all their data taken.

The fleet had brought back no more than three dozen aliens, to which their species' name is Turian. Miranda had not seen them in person, not yet at least.

And what she heard is the military prepping for war. Section II left this one alone. The Congress of the UEG unanimously agreed to declare war on the two species who attacked the expedition fleet. How to launch the attack is left up to HIGHCOM and ONI to plan.

ONI had one last thing on their list before proceeding: request an officer to come out of his retirement.

Hopefully, Miranda thought, this would be a one-step job.

Through all the traffic she had finally made it to her destination. She parked her car next to sidewalk, just before the corner of the block. Miranda looked to the building on her left. It looked decent for an apartment complex from the twenty-fourth century. It was beige in color, windows stacked above another for four levels.

This isn't exactly a most friendly place to be on the far outskirts off of Boston. She was in the 27th-century term of the word "ghetto," where all the people who didn't fare well in the real world and ended up here. Miranda had wondered why the retired officer lived here.

She turned off her heater before her engine died down. The lingering heat wouldn't stay much longer.

Miranda adjusted her black blazer and black tie, and smoothed out her dress pants. She pulled out her earpiece from the glove compartment and put it in her ear. She donned her gloves and grabbed the datapad.

The Boston wind slapped her face with a harsh cold breath as she exited her vehicle. She flinched. The warmth on her cheeks died quickly like water pouring out over a fire. Her hand pushed the butterfly-door shut.

She looked both ways and jogged across the snowy street. Her gloved hand touched metal knob and turned it; the wooden door squeaked open as it did when it closed behind her. A bell sang lightly in the hallway. Her head turned in reaction, looked up at the cracked silver bell hanging on the edge of the door, and her eyes gazed for a quick moment at the odd textured window.

Her heeled boots echoed on the tiled floor. She could hear a TV barking in the background in the lobby. Up the stairway two levels, she stood in the middle of a hallway. Searching where to go, she observed the numbers on the wall next to its respective entrance. To her right, the numbers descended. She turned left.

The carpeted floor muffled her footings. Near the end of the hall, she looked for the number, 22B.

She stood in front of the door. Miranda fixed her bangs and her clothes at the last moment before knocking four times on the worn beaten wooden door.

She timed the waiting period.

Four times she knocked again.

"What," an aggravated voice echoed through the door.

A lock rattled like toy—a door door partially opened.

A body stepped out halfway from its dark cave. The man looked scruffy, his beard traveled from the sides down above to his Adam's apple, and had short curls of dark-brown hair. His body was more or less average but it was perceived that way as he wore light-gray pajamas with a black robe. His green eyes were serious behind the black-rimmed glasses with dark bags hanging below.

His hands were on the door and on the frame, legs crossed one over another. He pouted mouth moved side to side in annoyance. "What do you want," he stressed.

Miranda handed the small datapad like an offering. "Miranda Lawson, Office of Naval Intelligence. John Bishop Church, HIGHCOM wants you back," she said. Her Australian accent ranged in the hallway.

Church looked down at the datapad. "Fuck you," he said lowly, slammed the door shut and locked it. "I'm already enjoying the retirement the damn brass gave me to shut me up, thank you _very_ much!"

Miranda's face remained stoic. She isn't going down easily. Fortunately for her, Church had forgotten to do the door latch. Her fingers dove to her back pocket and pulled out her lock picks.

She crouched down and laid the datapad next to her. Miranda inserted her lock picks and played with the pins until she found the sweet spot. In under half a minute, she half-smiled at the satisfying click the lock made.

She put her lock picks back and picked up the datapad as she courteously stood upwards. Her hand turned the knob to see the dark room once again. She stepped inside a couple of inches and turned on the datapad to use it as a light source to find the light switch. The light stopped at the familiar object, and walked towards it. Her finger flipped the switch, and the room brightened as if someone threw a flash-bang.

The room looked rather typical for its age. The walls were egg white and vacant with the exception of the television. From Miranda's point of view, to the top right was worn leather couch against the wall. In front of it was a glass table with four gold-rusted legs. The window on the far right was covered in black draperies.

The kitchen was well-kept and clean, except for a stack of pans and plates next to the sink.

Miranda felt something inside her. She tossed the datapad on the stool next to the counter-top. Her left hand went above her waist, lifting the white blouse revealing her weapon holster. Her finger unhooked the strap that kept her personal Phalanx in place and flicked the safety off. She held it above the holster by its grip.

The door across Miranda opened violently. Her magnum reacted and flew above her chest. Her manicured thumb cocked the hammer, ready to be shot.

Church aimed his gun at the woman he deemed an intruder. The finish was wearing out, dark-silver streaks spotted on the gun. He cocked the weapon.

Miranda knew the distinctive noise it made. It was pump-action shotgun. From the receiving end, she could guess it was from the Great War era, the M90A. She had standard shielding, and at this range she would get a few couple of pellets if she was lucky.

If he were to get a bead on her, she would incapacitate him. However, it was not her mission parameters. Unless it was self-defense that Church shot first, shooting a war veteran would make things much worse. Breaking in to his apartment wouldn't probably alleviate her case.

Church possibly had that in mind. It was one of his quirks.

"Shooting an ONI operative won't be pleasant ride," Miranda said calmly.

Church grunted. His brows furrowed. "Bullshit. You don't look like a spook."

"My section's a bit lenient on dress code if it won't compromise our assignments. I have proof if you need it."

Church took his hand off the forend and motioned his first two fingers.

Miranda lowered her pistol halfway. Her right hand slowly went into her lateral pocket and pulled out a black badge. She showed both sides once and tossed it.

Church held the smooth black leather badge. He flipped it open and eyed at the identification card on side and the ONI symbol on the other. There were pieces of paper and cards inside, assuming it's nothing compromising. He turned the card to face the light and moved it at every possible angle. He tried to find its legitimacy.

The badge itself was easy to make but the card isn't. No one knows where it is made, not even agents themselves or the individuals who gave it to them.

His eyes caught something shiny. He reverted back and saw the half-triangle with a crescent shape in the middle. It was embedded in the card, next to Miranda's profile picture. He admitted she looked good.

He lowered the badge and tossed it back. "I had to check," he said.

"Y'know it's impossible to forge an ONI ID card," Miranda replied as she holstered her weapon.

He just shrugged. He turned his attention back to the shotgun, pressed the button on the forend and pulled it back. The red shell ejected down to the floor. He turned the safety on.

"Why do need me?"

Miranda grabbed the datapad from the stool and walked towards Church. "Like I said, HIGHCOM wants you back in service."

Church turned his back and into his room. "What for? I'm pushing seventy and I'm already retired. I've done enough for humanity against the 'Storm'," he said, air-quoting the name last in mockery. He opened his weapons locker in the closet and placed the shotgun back.

"Except this time it isn't neither Covenant nor Forerunner," Miranda pointed out. "Haven't you seen the news lately?"

"The storm's fucking up my signals. I can't get anything decent. Papers are late as usual."

"UEG has unanimously voted for a declaration of war against these two new species. HIGHCOM and ONI are prepping an operation. Prowler corps are scouring their systems with the data taken from one of their ships."

Church closed the door behind him, walking towards the kitchen. "How bad is it?"

Miranda processed that question for a moment. "Not bad. You're one of the final pieces of the puzzle."

He took a small glass cup and whiskey from the cabinet. "Aw, how sweet. The brass shows they _really_ care about me. No, I meant casualties when taking the data, if there were any." He poured the whiskey. "Want some?"

"Minimal. Most survived through the mission with just flesh-wounds. And no thank you."

Church chugged the shot of whiskey. The burning sensation in his throat felt nice.

It was a relief to hear to minimal casualties, but it was their first fight against an unknown species. A full-scale war is entirely different.

"When do I report for duty," he asked.

"Possibly tomorrow or the next day. We could go today to speed things up a bit. Your choice.

Church thought for a moment. He lend his hand out for the datapad and felt it land on his palm. "I'll go to where?"

"Sydney. ONI November Site. That's where all plannings are taking place. You'll need a special-access card once you're in there."

He huffed and nodded. "Alright. I'll go with you. Let me get my dress uniform."

"Very well. It's good to have you back, vice admiral."

…

Church fitted in his clothes rather nicely. He was happy that his body didn't make it any tougher to wear. The color was pale white, and on the jacket had brass buttons. On his left chest was a variety of ribbons attained in his career.

He opened his mirror closet, revealing his dark green weapons locker. His entered the code and pressed his thumb against the scanner. It beeped twice as the lock clicked. He pulled the handle, and inside all sorts of weapons—assault rifles, shotguns, and pistols of various models. There was even a stack of ammo underneath it and on the door.

Church took his sidearm, the ol' M6H, and put it in the holster. He grabbed his personal shield generator and strapped on his lower back.

He adjusted the black-gold collar on last time and donned his cap before he went out the door.

He saw Miranda sitting on the stool patiently waiting. Ready, he said. She turned around to see and immediately stood on her feet.

The two headed out the apartment room. Church quickly locked his door. They took their time to go down the flight of stairs, and when they were in the hallway Church stopped. Miranda noticed and turned around with a questioning look.

"What is it," she asked.

"The TV," he said almost in a hushed tone.

Miranda gave a petty look. She scoffed. "What about it?"

Church's eyes locked onto Miranda with a stare that could kill a thousand miles away. "The TV is _never_ off."

Miranda's face turned serious. She and Church quickly equipped their handguns.

Bullets whizzed past by. Their shields flickered, the two ducked in reaction. Shards of wood flew like shrapnel as bullets made an increasing number of exit holes on the wall.

Church and Miranda slammed their body against the wall as they waited for the silenced gunfire to die down. A moment's pause, Miranda leaped out of cover and aimed her magnum at the two male figures standing in the lobby. They were out in the open, reloading their old-era assault rifles.

As she gently squeezed the trigger a blue laser pointed at the left figure. Half-grinning, she pulled the trigger as the .50AE bullet slammed his shields and drilled through his skull. Blood erupted at the back of the head like a volcano, some of it traveling alongside the bullet. His body fell hard on the back.

Miranda aimed at her next target. At the same area, she shot but this time he only stumbled backwards from the force of the round slamming against shields. He had a common Sangheili shield.

Again, she fired, and this time it went though the jugular and outwards. The bullet went through his spine, disrupting the nerve signals to and from his body. He was dead before he even hit the ground.

Silence.

Miranda exhaled deeply and slowly. "Clear," she said normally. She went back to Church.

"There's bound to be more of them," he said as stood up.

"You know who they are."

"Unfortunately yes. These guys are one of the political factions who opposed the bill that President Harrison signed weeks ago. You must've tipped them off when you arrived here, or they just got lucky."

"Didn't know there would be any disdain left."

"Not everyone would agree with changes, especially if we fought an enemy for more than half a century. I supported the bill so that makes me a target along with anyone else who did."

"Why not go under military protection?"

"I can take of myself. However, this one is the most extreme and they are dangerous, and I managed to evade them so far."

Miranda scoffed. "Not dangerous enough. Come, we should get out of here before it gets even worse."

Church nodded.

They went outside out to the snowing city. Miranda looked both ways for any hostiles. None so far. Miranda signaled to move forward to her car. Just as they both neared, an explosion ballooned in the air.

Their bodies flew backwards like a rag doll. Miranda and Church covered their ringing ears, groaning in agony. Miranda opened her eyes as the ringing slowly dulled. Black figures sprinted on the other sidewalk, their weapons aimed her and the admiral.

Grabbing her weapon she yanked the admiral's sleeve and pulled him behind the car near them. Bullets impacted the car and whizzed above.

"You okay," Miranda yelled.

Church nodded.

Miranda touched her earpiece. "Bravo site, this is Deadringer-1. Um... We ran into a bit of trouble." She paused and fired popshots at the individuals firing. "Red Eagles, they're here," she answered. "Their patches confirms it. Got it, heading to extraction Charlie-Six, out. We got extraction."

"Where?" Church popped up and fired multiple times. He managed to get a kill.

"About ten klicks west of our position. It's at a building site that's been abandoned."

"How are we gonna get out o' here? Your ride just got fucked up in the ass."

"Thank you for input. As of getting out of here, I can hotwire these cars if you can give me covering fire."

"I'll try. Good luck hotwiring, I'm serious."

Miranda crouch-walk to the car parked behind the one they took as cover. She laid her gun down on the ground and took out her lockpicks. She inserted inside the keyhole of the driver's door, striking the pins inside.

Her eyes switched to the battle and back to her lock picking. She looked back up and caught two figures jogging through the street towards the car. She left her position, picked up her pistol and took cover near the edge of the taillight. She switched her gun to her right hand with her left hand out in a clawed pose.

She saw the barrel of the gun, grabbed it and spun the individual while aiming her pistol at the other. Bullets went through him and fell like a log. Miranda placed the her gun at the bottom of the assailant's jaw and fired, completely bypassing the personal shielding.

She took the assault rifle and laid it down next her as she emptied her pistol mag and replaced it with a new one. She resumed her lockpicking and heard a click through the loud gunfire in the air.

Miranda opened the door and yelled out Church's name. She picked up the assault rifle and suppressed the enemy position as Church jumped into the passenger seat.

The gun clicked; the counter read zero rounds left. Miranda threw the gun on the ground and entered the car, shutting the door.

She didn't have time to completely hotwire the car. Instead, her hand went to her jacket pocket and took out a black thin device. She planted it inside the keyhole and turned it as if it were the key itself. The car roared to life.

Church witnessed the event in front of him. He mumbled, "What the fuck." He didn't bother asking a question. All that mattered is getting out of here.

Miranda put the gear in drive and floored it. She made a sharp left turn and drove forward.

Her eyes darted back and forth from the windshield to the driver's mirror. No activity. She sighed a relief.

* * *

**A bit of action to savor before the shitstorm. Church is one of the major players so don't count him out-you'll see him more later on.  
**

**See ya.**


	10. Armor Requisition Completed

/Attached File 1 of 3/

SEPTEMBER 2, 2600 (MILITARY CALENDAR)

ISSUING OFFICER: ADMIRAL HARPER, OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE, SECTION FOUR/UNSCMID: 66757609

TO: ADMIRAL HACKETT, ADMIRAL SHEPARD (plus nine contacts)

SUBJECT: NEW MJOLNIR ARMOR FOR SPARTAN VI PROGRAM

I have some news. As you may know, I am the supervisor of the weapons division among other subjects in Section Four. First off, the new MJOLNIR Mark VIII armor has worked astoundingly. Through month after month since a new issue for the armor were ordered years ago, we are successful.

Field reports conclude the Spartans will be able remain in space fifty-percent longer, muscle strength will be enhanced much more than its predecessors, stronger shield strength, etc. The armor is more streamlined, adopting the armor design of the infamous N7 program. They will be more flexible and agile. Due to the various roles of Spartans there will be hundreds of various armor pieces, from light to heavy armor chest pieces, and the likes. All are compatible with one another.

I highly recommend to re-outfit the Spartans before deployment. They may need a bit of practice regarding the new upgrades we have put in. Nevertheless, I feel it won't be any different.

I have told Admiral George Wesley. He has put immediate funding to the creation of the armor. Hopefully, about 82% of the Spartans will be ready before their use in the operation plan.

My personal AI will attach the specifications to this file.

/END/

/ATTACHED FILE 2 OF 3/

FROM: CODE NAME DARKSHINES

SUBJECT: MJOLNIR ARMOR SPECIFICATIONS

TO: ADMIRAL HACKETT, ADMIRAL SHEPARD (plus nine contacts)

As per request from Admiral Harper, I have included a number of upgrades regarding to armor specifications of the Mark VIII. Note that these upgrades were tested thoroughly and are proven to be one-hundred percent combat effective. I have not listed ALL the upgrades in this file, only those that seem to be helpful. I have attached another for the full list in a .FF file. Frankly, it's a big list.

/SPECIFICATIONS CATALOUGE/

-Wearer can now take off armor without machinery assistance, and vice versa.

-Armor is shaped to the wearer's body and adjusts to movement, allowing more flexibility with minimal loss of strength power. This is explained in attached file.

-Less than third of the mass of previous models.

-A wearer can uncover their face at will via opening the front portion of the helmet, a similar fashion of lifting up a mask.

-HUD is greatly improved. Upgrades include real-time mapping and information, health counter, and VISR.

-Slipspace transitioning is now possible with a range of 70,000 kilometers. To travel it must require large amounts of energy from the suit. This leaves the wearer vulnerable for a period of time upon exiting as it drains the shields. Secondary shielding apart from the main systems is activated immediately when detecting large amount of Cherenkov radiation, protecting the wearer when traveling. Depending on the range, average downtime is one minute or under. Similar to how the Prometheans moved about in the battlefield.

-Shielding is improved. Minimal overlaps. Shielding is the strongest in terms of area protection such as the chest or head. More of this in attached file.

-Bodysuit is a smaller variant of the XSD-953, codenamed "DRAGON SKIN," stronger than carbon microfibers and light as a blanket. This is one of the benefits the wearer being flexible. Protection against small-arms fire. The armor itself depends on the making. As an example, a Spartan would wear an armor is that is light, flexible, and easily repaired. Or a Spartan would wear an armor with heavy protection in exchange for flexibility and speed. As there are huge amounts of armor combinations, each Spartan will have their own armor stats.

/END/

/ATTACHED FILE 3 OF 3/

FROM: CODE NAME DARKSHINES

SUBJECT: MJOLNIR ARMOR SPECIFICATIONS

TO: ADMIRAL HACKETT, ADMIRAL SHEPARD (plus nine contacts)

The rest of the armor specifications.

DOWNLOAD

/END/

* * *

**A.N: New armor, woohoo! This was a bit of an afterthought. Someone had reminded me of the Spartan program and their armor, so I decided to post it up as its own chapter  
**

**The part where the front part of the helmet lifts up was inspired from Iron Man. It can be seen the tv spot #10 at around 19 seconds (Iron Patriot) if you want to know. **

**Reference from Ghost of Onyx used.**


	11. OPLH Shock and Awe

_OPERATION Lightning Hammer: Shock and Awe_

_"In this time of peace and prosperity [... We] are yet to answer the hostilities of these new species beyond the Charon Relay. In this State of the Union Address, I call upon the Congress of the UEG and the Council of Union to declare a state of war on this new threat. Together with our military might and our indomitable will, we will pursue a cause to answer for their unjustified attack against Humanity, our worlds, and our allies. In a joint-species coalition, under my orders and the chairman of the council, Thel 'Vadam, will initiate the start of a campaign, to show that we are not to be trifled with [...]"_

-President Harrison's speech on October 2, 2600 in Sydney, Australia.

**2600.5.10, 1000 Hours (MST). Above Reach, Epsilon Eridani System.**

In the mass of over one-hundred fifty ships lies the largest join-species operation since the closing of the Great War. Comprising of over ten mixed fleets of human and Sangheili, they were ready against the Turians and the newly discovered species that fought alongside them a few days ago, the Batarians.

The data taken a few days ago was limited to where strategic places would be. ONI agents interrogated the hostages and got more though than they could hold. The UNSC and ONI couldn't tell which had more strategic value. But a single word kept spewing out more than others. A Turian world known as Macedyn. Through more thorough and intensive interrogations, ONI had located the system.

Church questioned in his mind was how they were able to make the aliens spill it. He didn't want to know.

Of course, the military was holding back.

_Hit softly and carry a fistful of steel_, he thought.

The entire operation was under his control. The number of human ships included were not even close to half of the UNSC's fleet power. Church had thought why. But he did not complain. He commanded the first fleet, a vanguard. He would attack the target, and when they have more data on strategic worlds, the rest would pour over other worlds.

His foot clacked on the ground and echoed in the hall. He entered the bridge of his _Marathon_-heavy cruiser, _Iron Maiden_.

"Vice admiral on deck!"

The crew had immediately stopped their duties and swung their bodies out of their seats. They saluted, their body stern as a tree.

Church saluted back as he walked by. "As you were," he said.

The crew went back to their duties. A red-shirt gave Church a datapad, to which he took as he sipped his coffee from the white mug.

He gazed at the information on the screen. With a finger to spare from his coffee hand, he strolled down to the end. His mouth shrugged and gave the datapad to a random crew member passing by.

"Where's my AI," he questioned in a hushed tone.

"I'm here," a female voice said.

A figure popped on the pedestal next to the tactical screen, a woman with snow-white hair in twin French braids. Her eyes were green as grass in spring and lips as blood in color. She wore a dark-colored scarf around her neck, with the ends pointing down to her waist. Her clothes were casual, simple, and beautiful.

She laid a hand on her hip. "Surely you haven't forgot my name..." Her voice trailed off.

Church shrugged. "Only been a day. Memory's not what it used to be."

The AI scoffed. "Sure. It's Devon."

Church nodded as he remembered the name. He did like that English accent. "Right. I knew that."

Devon's brows rose. "Shall I go over the plan once more, to _refresh_ your memory."

Church left his position, walking towards his command chair. "Go right ahead," he said as sat in the edge, sipping his still-warm coffee.

Devon reappeared on the pedestal next to him. "Macedyn, a Turian world, mostly. Scouted by ONI prowlers _Flying Dutchman_ and _Explorer_. There appears to be a large number of ships possibly consisting of two or three fleets backed up by at least twenty orbital defense platforms.

"There are other species we haven't been able to recognize on the planet. In fact, almost every planet we are about to invade has some of these unknown species."

"They couldn't get information on these other species? And what about Batarians?"

"Rare on these Turian planets except for Batarian's own territories. As for extra data, they couldn't risk without revealing their positions. Anyways, there's high number of military bases on the ground, if such structures seem to suggest they are in fact military bases. ODSTs will drop on those targets while ground troops attempt to occupy other TOIs. Bombing runs will initiate as planned. Same goes for every fleet. We will remain on station until further orders."

"Very well." He placed his coffee mug on the armrest and stood. He walked towards the bow window and stood there. "Open com to every ship in the fleet," he ordered.

"Ready sir," the communications officer said.

"Everyone, this is Vice Admiral Church. Today marks the largest joint-species operation since the Great War. We have the past in the books and now it's time to make the future of our history. These two species that had attacked us without moral concerns will now know what happens when you mess with the wrong people. We have our orders. I expect no less from each and every one of you. Do your job, and we'll see each other on the far side. Commence operation. Church out.

"Helm, spin up the drive. Weapons, get missiles and MACs hot and ready. I want the troops ready by the time we get orbital supremacy. Get the fighters ready."

The officers responsible complied and carried out their orders. Everyone on deck scrambled to their positions, making sure everything was in check.

"Slipspace drive ready sir."

"Good. Com, tell the fleet to jump on my mark."

"They're waiting on you," the ensign replied.

"Commence slipspace jump."

The _Iron Maiden_ and her dozens of escorts flew as fast as they could, building up momentum before their trans-light engines created black holes into the eleven dimensions. The ships dove in and the portals closed seamlessly behind them.

The realm of slipspace appeared in front of Church. It was as almost like watching the Aurora Borealis but whiter and much more bright. He didn't flinch away at the brightness—it was only bright as desk lamp if you put your eyes close to the bulb.

A minute later, he could see the wisp-like clouds fading. Before his eyes, a blackened hole appeared suddenly and the fleet exited in near synchronicity.

The joint-fleet drifted thousands of kilometers away from the planet. Targeting solutions from the prowlers that remained on-station were uploaded to all ship's weapon systems.

"Enemy ships are turning about admiral, all forty-six of them. I detect energy fluctuations, they are preparing their weapons," Devon reported.

"Divert power to the bow shields. Weapons, ready MAC guns and prime Jericho missile pods A-10 through F-3."

"Aye. MAC gun is at eighty-nine percent charged. Missile pods are hot and primed," the weapons officer said.

"Enemy has fired," Devon said. "Three seconds until impact."

It wasn't enough time to brace as the rounds hit the fleet's shields and others passing by mere meters.

"They're firing again, admiral. Five seconds."

"All ships fire at will," Church commanded as he braced himself.

As the streak of white-blue rounds hit their targets, the human and Sangheili returned fire. Streaks of hot metal from the MACs flew alongside plasma torpedoes, traveling over a thousand kilometers in distance.

Some Turian ships had dodged the human rounds, some didn't as the 600-ton round effortlessly pierced through their shields and exploded in a fiery death; the MAC rounds had retained enough energy as it passed through the hull and traveled onto the planet below.

The missiles flew as fast as they can but not enough as they were shot down one after another by the enemy's defenses. A few were lucky. As they neared two hundred meters to their targets, smaller individual missiles started their run and slammed onto multiple ships. It wasn't enough to bring their shields down but it did hurt.

Church analyzed the situation. These ships pumped out rounds faster than his ships could. For every two rounds fired from the Turians they fired one, two perhaps if needed but that would double the time to recharge the _Marathon_'s dual MACs.

Church hadn't launched his fighters yet. He wouldn't know if their defenses would be as effective against fighters as to missiles. Then again, they hadn't launched theirs. Perhaps they're not thinking tactically or they already knew his defenses would cut them down easily as their defense would do to his. Maybe it was uncommon to have fighters at this distance.

"Devon, how far are we from the enemy," Church asked as the ship continued to rock from the impacting rounds.

"About six and half thousand kilometers, why?"

"Your opinion on those ships and their weapons?"

Devon looked at him strangely. Nevertheless, she answered. "They certainly top our fire rate than we could. Shields are pathetically weak, if you ask me. Dodgy too. If I were to say, I'd say they are more of a support type. Pump out rounds faster and harass your enemy's at a distance whilst maneuverable. Their defenses are effective. But, you know with lasers—"

"They heat up like a microwave," Church interjected. "Very well. Helm, plot a jump that takes us face-to-face with these pricks, ten kilometers minimum. Weapons, ready the Starlight missiles and hold. Relay it throughout the fleet. CAG, have the fighters ready to deploy once we exit the jump."

The officers complied, repeating their respective orders.

"Weapons, hold MAC. Load shredder rounds in the guns. Devon, give tactical imagery on the screen," Church ordered as he jogged to the tac-screen. In the midst of the ship rocking continuously, he was able to pick the largest targets.

"Devon, have the supercarrier jump fifteen kilometers behind us and to launch its fighters. Have the heavy frigates jump to the right flank. Harass them with Jericho and PDCs and shoot down the platforms. Tell the Sangheili warships and our cruisers and light frigates to deploy their troops on the planet."

"Aye sir. They've acknowledged your orders."

"Slipspace drive is ready!"

"Starlight ready sir!"

"All ships," Church said. "Jump!"

Dozens of portals opened and reappeared in a span of two and a half seconds. The fleet resumed firing their MACs and plasma weapons.

The defense fleet, unprepared by the alien's tactics, were cut down to nearly half its strength. They fired torpedoes in an excessive rate. They slowly traveled across the black space between them and were wiped out by the invader's defenses.

The orbital defense platforms continued to fire. They dished out a round with a force of thirty-two kilotons every two seconds at 1.5 percent the speed-of-light. Rounds impacted the smaller ships encircling the fleet.

Swarms of Turian fighter squadrons filled the grid, finally engaging in the battle in orbit. Squads had launched their warp torpedoes at the largest ships. It impacted on the shields, effectively doing nothing but being a hindrance.

Church ordered all his fighters to the battle but kept the dropships. They harassed the defense fleet and the fired missiles at the defense platforms in orbit, carving a path for the bombers to lay waste on the planet below.

Anti-air Hardlight batteries and pulse lasers attacked in defense against the fighters, in efforts to shoot them down one by one, but they were small and fast. They were nimble and very maneuverable. But they couldn't outrun the Seraphs and Broadswords for long.

Lasers attempted to hit the human and Sangheili fighters. Numbers of fighters were blown out of the sky.

The _Iron Maiden_ shot six rounds at her enemies, each one severely crippled or outright destroyed. One had destroyed an orbital platform.

The destroyers fired their MACs from afar, obliterating any ships that were unlucky to be hit. Frigates aimed and fired their missiles at the defense fleet and at some defense platforms, firing their broadside guns at the exposed hulls of the winged spacecraft.

MAC rounds and lines of plasma continued to dazzle in space. Jericho missiles continued towards their targets, splashing against the shields that tried not to wither under the immense firepower.

…

**On board **_**Charon**_**-class ****UNSC **_**Fury. **_**Before the drop...**

Ashley Williams made her long brown hair into a bun. Her helmet was in the pod on the seat. As she finished her hair-bun, Williams had made sure she had her weapons ready to go. Her Personal Defense Rifle-50, or PDR-50, was in the pod and her magnum holstered on her right thigh. Her hands clamped her front pockets to make sure they were all full. Ammo, grenades of various types, flares, medi-injectors, and more.

The bay alarm chirped to life.

"Alright everyone," she said out loud. "You know the music. Time to dance."

Her squad grabbed their weapons and their helmets.

Williams donned her helmet and sat in the pod. The pod door slammed shut and hissed.

A helmeted figure popped up on her right screen and opposite was a woman, the ship's captain. "Guys and gals, how are y'all doing on this fine morning."

Voices called out in response, others grunted.

"Alright, listen up," Lieutenant Derrick, the company commander, said. "E.T has decided to go on the offensive and the vice admiral wants us on the ground while he deals with the aliens in orbit."

Inside, each ODST watched and listened. In Williams' HUD, an image of a planet popped up and magnified step by step to an image of the earth.

"What you are looking at is a city of Macedyn, a disgusting world housing the Turians, mostly. ONI prowlers detected movements planetside, possible military and local enforcements."

Williams shifted in her pod. Her eyes roamed around her pod then looked down at her gloved hands. They were shaking with adrenaline. Her heart began to slowly race. In all her ten years as a marine, and three as an ODST, she has this innate feeling when getting ready for battle—and it was never wrong. More or less, she knew every single trooper, including herself, will have at least a minute before dropping. It's a gut feeling, one she'd been blessed and been cursed with.

"Bombers will have already started their run once we drop, but we are getting first plates on some alien ass to kick them back to whatever they call hell."

"Before we do that," the captain interjected, "we are exiting slipspace in-atmosphere."

Murmurs filled the com.

In-atmospheric slip-and-drops were not uncommon, but if planned incorrectly by the bridge's crew, it is very fatal to at least one for every five troopers. It gave a whole new meaning to "dig your own grave." If done efficiently, your enemies will be caught off guard once dropped behind their back doors.

Light and heavy frigates are very capable of doing a slip-and-drop due to their light tonnage. Heavy tonnage warships, such as a super-cruiser or a dreadnought, must begin their drift at a far distance behind the pack to build their momentum, depending on surface gravity and velocity in-check, to return to orbit. Typically, these kind of drops are done ten kilometers above ground. But this time, the cruisers will send their own the old-fashion way.

The captain continued, "The city you will be dropping in is a crowded place. There are very high buildings but you should be able to dodge them. Possible alien air defenses will be harassing our birds, so air support will be somewhat limited. Frigates will be on station above later. Once the ship is out of slipspace, you have ten seconds to correct your course."

The company commander took over. "Objectives are pure and simple: follow your orders, take the objective, and kick some alien ass. Hooah?"

The com blared, "Hooah!"

"Tell me boys and girls, how will you leave this ship?"

"We go first feet into hell, sir," they all yelled.

"I'll see you all groundside in thirty. Derrick out."

Williams donned her helmet. The pod door slammed and sealed tightly, and rotated one-hundred and eighty degrees. Systems came online. Navigation check. Seal pressure check. Weapons check. Com check. Everything's going smoothly.

"All ground units, this is Overlord," the frigate's ground operator said. The navy kept the tradition of women over the com giving one last morale boost to the men fighting. For Ashley, it was remembering the Odyssey and reciting some in her head. "We are in Macedyn airspace. Time to target, thirty seconds and counting. Godspeed. Overlord out." The figure went offline and replaced with Williams on the screen.

Williams gripped the two joysticks on the armrest. The other pods like hers dangled on the ceiling, moving and rocking against the high winds.

The black pods dropped one by one after another. Ashley heard her countdown beeping rapidly. She took a quick deep breath, and held it as the beep went to its last beat.

_Thump!_

The pod rocked for a moment. Her breath calmly exhaled. Her sights eyed the ever-growing battle in front of the dimming horizon. Plumes of smoke and fire lit up like a Christmas tree. Explosions popped randomly, some bigger than others—popcorn in a kettle. JDAMs hit their target with extreme precision, sending huge shockwaves and mushrooming in the sky. Strings of explosions beyond the city plumed fire and smoke visible in the dimming sky. Buildings were burning and crashing down from the endless bombardment. Smoke and fires spread wildly on the ground.

Flack rounds exploded in the air in retaliation against the bombing run. Ashley sure as hell hoped her pod won't be blown to bits along with her.

"Commander, five klicks off the deck," Williams reported.

"All ground forces, this is UNSC _Fury_. Vice Admiral Church has authorized MAC rounds in-atmosphere at full-power."

"Shit, are you kidding me," Derrick stressed. "Everyone, brace and adjust headings after the shot."

The _Fury_ adjusted her heading to a winged military spacecraft far away hovering far away the city. It's bow turned to opposing ship. Mass accelerated rounds mushroomed on the _Fury_, its shield glowed gold-yellow.

The human ship returned fire at the alien ship. The resulting shock wave rocked Williams' pod violently and nearly cleared the black smoke in the air. The sound of it firing was like the Devil himself screeching in the air.

The round pierced the ship through the bow and back cleanly like a high-velocity headshot. It lost control, her bow pointed towards the port and slowly it went down. Plumes of fire exploded through the hull. The ship itself began to tore apart.

Williams adjusted her headings at the last second to accommodate from the shockwave. She felt the extra push of the rocket firing above her.

Pods huddled closely with her own. The blackened ground increasingly filled her view. In what feels like a lifetime, her pod smashed and cratered into the ground. The last thing she saw before the hushed casket flew open was a paint of blue splattered on the glass.

She quickly grabbed her PDR-50, cocked it and aimed at the nearest non-human bastard. The armed alien looked at her, taken by surprise from the sudden entrance. Apparently it was still stunned from the MAC firing. That gave Williams the full advantage of firing first. Time slowed, her heart pumping adrenaline throughout her body. With a pull of the trigger, the shields withered under fire, popped, and a number of 5.56 rounds pierced the alien body. It dropped lifelessly on the ground in its own pool of blood.

Williams looked at her counter on the top right of her HUD. Twenty-nine rounds left. Almost half her mag gone.

Time had returned to normal, and the sound of war entered her head. Her fellow ODSTs took cover behind a wrecked car, firing at the Turians at the intersection. Ashley went to the car adjacent to their position. She saw name tags above their person. Duran, Guerrero, and Smith. Her squad was all green.

Her back slammed against the broken car door. Williams ejected her near-spent mag and popped in a fresh one behind the trigger hand. Her head dove up but stopped suddenly at the bodies inside the car. Behind the blood stain on the window was a turian. Next to him looked like a woman, and in the back...

Ashley shook her head, purposefully trying to block the horrid image to the back of head.

Her sights aimed at a Turian, fired a short burst at the alien. It immediately went back into cover but the other kept firing. The barrel of her gun fired and the target fell. Rounds whizzed past by her head and ducked down. She looked at her mini-map. Dozens of yellow dots, including herself, were here presently in-range of her map.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings. Tons of cars, not to mention a lot of black pods on the ground. Windows on the buildings above were shattered and rigid from the _Fury_'s MAC blast. Angled curbs separated the wide road and the sidewalk. There were metal pillars, thin and cylindrical, partially supporting the structure above.

Her view turned to the three men next to her. She opened the coms.

"Duran, Guerrero, Smith. Move up, I'll cover you. Get that bastard behind the truck."

All three signaled green-lights. Guerrero went first, then Duran and Smith, and fired their rifles at the gray truck. Ashley popped up from the car and fired on the move.

She stayed low, dodging incoming rounds. Williams used her energy to sprint to the sidewalk. In two whole steps, she managed to nearly reach the top, only to pull herself up with her hand and her body rolling on the concrete.

She grunted, and pulled herself up. Moving against the pillar, she switched her gun to the left hand, and fired at the Turian hiding behind the truck. It futilely moved away from the exposed area, only to be gunned down from his flank.

"Phoenix squad, this is Onyx, we're moving to you, over."

"Copy. We'll join you," Williams replied.

"Roger. The more, the merrier."

"Good to hear. Phoenix, let's move."

Ashley jumped down to the road. The four jogged to the intersection and met five others.

"Corporal Locklear, ma'am." He saluted.

"Gunnery Sergeant Williams." She returned the gesture. "How's it going?"

He shrugged. "We took 'em by surprise, that's for sure. The next few roads from here lead to a military base, target name Charlie-7. That's where we are all heading to on foot. Sangheili warriors and grunts are being dropped off and attempting to gain access."

Ashley nodded. "Let's go. Wouldn't want to be late for the party."

"Hooah," the troopers said as they pumped their weapons into the air.

* * *

**A.N:So begins the first battle of the First Contact War. Stay tuned for more!**


	12. Resistance

Resistance

**2153, port-city in Kuromo, Eryx, Macedyn. 1230 local military time. **

Alien single-fighters harassed the ground troops like swarms of deadly locusts.

Turian shuttles were having a hard time getting in and out of the battlefield. Shuttles were shot at left and right, their shields barely able to hold for long. Troops disembarked onto the blackened ground despite taking heavy enemy ground fire.

Gaius ducked his head under the continuous fire that would spell death for him if he dared popped his head out from the cover of a giant rock. His shields regenerated back to full strength. With two deep breaths, he jumped out of cover and into the fields where his fallen comrades laid on the earth like discarded clothing. Rounds cratered the ground and sent pounds of dirt in the air falling like confetti.

Gaius ran with his fellow comrades, attempting to dodge every round fired across him but these aliens had good aim this far a distance.

He found himself in a crater to replenish his shields. His breath was heavy, and gripped the Phaeston with all his strength.

The air was hot from the heat, not from the battle but of the sun above. But it was filled with yells and screams of agony, bombs whistling as they come to the ground spelling death to anyone who was unlucky.

Gaius hoped his name wasn't on one.

He couldn't believe these aliens fired "bullets" if they were this advanced. Gas-propelled weapons were the stone age in the Citadel race's history as bullets varied broad scale, limiting use to a single-purpose weapon.

But there were other types of weaponry he saw flying past him. Blue bolts that instantly dropped anyone, purple bullets and laser-like weapons that cut through infantry like a knife through butter. Weapons that he hadn't seen before, or anyone has as a matter of fact.

Gaius peeked over his hole. He was still far from the airfield. He brought up his assault rifle and fired in short bursts.

"Gaius!"

His fellow turian and friend slid into the crater. He stopped firing and turned his attention.

"Where's the captain," Nero shouted in question.

"I don't know, I can't find him anywhere! Where are the tanks?!"

"Back there. They're coming don't worry! Hurry, let's go!"

Nero stood up and ran out to the open. Gaius soon turned to follow him. Nero took the chance to fire his weapon but his shields popped in an instant and a round pierced through his chest. Blood splattered on Gaius' face and dodged his friend's body as it fell back into the hole.

Gaius' face was in a state of shock. His friend died in seconds, with a hole on his back big enough to put Gaius' hand in.

He shook it off and breathed deeply again, leapt out of the hole and ran as fast as he could. Gaius could barely stop now.

His shields popped again. With no cover, he'd hoped he would get through th—

Gaius screamed in agony and fell onto the ground. His Phaeston tumbled on the dirt. He gripped his thigh as blood pore through like a fountain. He quickly applied biogel, much to his relief, but his thigh was still writhing in pain. The bullet had fortunately missed the bone, nevertheless it dugged deep inside in the muscle.

He hastily got up, ignoring his thigh that was numbed by the biogel. It wasn't much but it was all he had.

The tanks that were unscathed pushed forward and bombarded enemy fortifications. Shuttles dropped off more troops onto the field and retrieved any that were seriously wounded.

One came up to Gaius in a hurry, supporting him walk behind a tank. He laid Gaius down against the back.

"Hang on," he said. "Biogel isn't enough to heal these wounds." He grabbed a rectangular pack, a field med-kit for long-term engagements. He opened it and grabbed a syringe-like object, stabbed it near the wound and gently pressed the thumb rest . "There, it should help you run."

Gaius nodded and stood. "Thanks."

The corpsman nodded lightly.

Gaius remembered he had no weapon except for his pistol. Not wanting to find it in this mess, he went out into the fire and again ran.

The airfield was near he could walk on it.

He spotted a weapon on the ground and picked it up. A Vindicator. He wasn't picky now.

And he hoped there would be help reinforcements...

...

Turian interceptors were nearly annihilated during the first days of the invasion; over eighty-percent of the air force was wiped out. The home fleet above Macedyn were no more, but most of their ground forces were deployed on the ground. Under a million and a half, both civilian and military, died or went missing within the first couple of days. Fighting was fierce throughout the planet. Nevertheless, turian defenses faltered back one after another, never stood a chance against the alien's air superiority. Communications was cut-only short-wave radios would work. Food rations were running at an all-time low, water became scarce over time.

Text-book rapid dominance.

Marcellus' men were losing morale more than losing the men themselves. This is the second week of the invasion, if it's still called an invasion. Moreover, it began to feel this was an occupation. Over his dead body.

knew about the ship that survived against the aliens during first contact. Captain Septimus ordered the ship to flee on its ten-day journey back to headquarters. Command recalled every fleet available from its duty to Palaven where they would organize an assault and defend possible military targets, including Macedyn.

Sadly, a whole fleet couldn't stop the invasion. Ship reserves in system numbered only in the dozens, and were mostly frigates and cruisers, not enough to balance the tip in his favor. Before communications was cut, their last order was to get more help.

Marcellus hoped his message got to them.

As soon the home fleet warned of the alien fleet arrived through profound means of transportation, Marcellus, his military cabinet, and any operators under his roof had little time to evacuate to the mountains far from the port-city. As soon as they broke atmosphere, the general ordered all confidential information to be purged from exposed bases on the surface.

Not all them made it. Only him, a third of his cabinet, most of the operators and some soldiers took shelter in CASTLE Arcadia, a fortress dug two miles deep under the earth, one-hundred acres in size, reinforced to withstand the most strongest planetary bombardments.

The turians first utilized underground bases during the late stages of the Rachni War, and were extremely useful during the Krogan Rebellions. These bases were outfitted with its own gas, electric and water utilities, and food storage can last for months. However, the space could only accommodate about eight-hundred people.

He rested his talons on the table. This wasn't going well at all. His soldiers were putting up competition against fierce resistance on the ground but at an immense cost. On the major continents on the planet—Eryx, Straza, Helios, and Luni—Eryx took the hardest hit. Major base installations were targeted and wiped completely leaving in the hands on the invaders to use in whatever they deem fit. Then there were reports of these 'strange' aliens on the battlefield, one that was tall as the krogan statue in the Presidium. One side mainly fired ballistic weaponry and another had energy weapons.

Marcellus sighed long and deeply.

CASTLE Arcadia was one the twenty underground bases on Macedyn but only four had high-ranking officers above colonel. Typically, there is no strict ranking rules when it comes to underground bases. Each base has an officer of a major. Whichever base has an individual with the highest officer rank will be the 'Command Base.' The major will step down from his post to the highest rank and retain as the adviser or similar. All other bases will report to the Command Base.

He lifted his talons above the table and rapidly moved them together. The projection of Macedyn hovered above the table. Sensors in-system were still operating, thank the Spirits. He again observed the ships orbiting above the planet. There were a huge number of diversified ship aesthetics. One was he figured spelled military and utilitarian, the other smooth and graceful-like but very deadly and fearsome.

The alien fleet was out numbered three to one but managed to win the space battle with little casualties. They didn't have a spec of eezo on them. How they managed to build those kind of ships with immense firepower was beyond him, to which only the Spirits know.

"General, Colonel Merula wishes to speak with you."

"On the main screen please."

A turian displayed on the screen. His face was a dark color, highlighted by white tattoos over his face.

"General," he greeted. His voice had a hint of despair.

"Colonel, what can I do for you?"

Merula turned his head away for a moment. He spoke. "General... We're suffering heavy losses. My men... Their smaller ships are still hovering above our cities, hammering our ground forces to ruin!"

"I understand your concern, colonel," Marcellus responded calmly. "We are taking heavy hits too. However, we still need the men in the fight. We have to hold."

"What if we don't have enough? Palaven should've relieved us by now. What if your message didn't get through," the colonel asked agitatedly.

"Then we hope for the best. For now, fight small and harass our enemies. We know the land better than them—that's our advantage, and we know we couldn't last without exhausting our forces."

"Guerrilla warfare? That's our strategy now?"

"Against a force like this, yes. We can still implement casualties if done right. Only confront your enemy when you need to colonel, if you know you're going to win."

Merula stared blankly at the general. "Ok, we'll go with your plan. I'll forward this globally. May the Spirits be with you, general."

"And you too, colonel. Arcadia out."

Marcellus sighed deeply. He rubbed his forehead to soothe his aching head.

**...**

**2600.****25****.10, ****21****03**** Hours (MST). ****UNSC/Sangheili Fed. ****Second week, 6****th**** day**** on Macedyn.**

Williams munched down an MRE and stared through the shattered window. Her body slouched next to a half-broken wall. The floor shook slightly, dust and pieces of the ceiling fell from above. She heard an explosion echoing in the distance. These turians were putting up a good fight, but how long will they last?

She grabbed a canteen and flushed down her food.

Her team and two other squads of ODSTs took shelter in an abandoned apartment building in the city. They opted to stay in the most available luxurious room, with a view of the harbor.

Over the horizon, the sun drowned in the ocean slowly. Its vibrant colors painted the cloud cover overhead as if the desert were over them, a colorful mix of dark blue and orange-faded yellow. The water were as dark as the night sky, a seemingly contrast between it and the sky.

It made the alien world feel less alien and thoughts of a home Williams wished to live on instead of ships most of her life. She could see a ship not far in the distance, but could barely make it out since the light was still shining. It was small enough so it was probably a human frigate. Not that she would mind, but it was an annoying speck in the sky as beautiful as this.

"...Where sunset hence must be for treason not of His, but Life's, gone westerly, today," she recited to herself quietly. Williams brought her canteen up and drank the still-cold water.

Barks of laughter erupted in the living room like children screaming. Williams tilted her head towards the door and rose her brow in curiosity. Not wanting to know what her squadmates were up to, she ignored it and pulled out her palm-sized datapad. She turned it on and accessed her e-mail. Her datapad beeped notifying her of ten new messages, most were voice mails. She selected the most recent one and played it.

"_Hey sis, it's Sarah again. So... Mom says hi, the others too. I'm actually recording this during lunch but I'm in a room, so don't worry, hah! I'm beginning to feel this is like a diary [laughs]. You know a friend of mine, Mike, right? Well, he asked me out a couple of days ago, and, well, we're going to see a movie-something simple to start out. I know you're a bit iffy about him and I understand. But I do like him. He's got that...aura around him, y'know? Not to mention he's pretty slick. Anyways, hope you're doing fine out there. I'll do another one soon. Buh bye! [End message]"_

Williams smiled and shook her head. '_I hope you guys had a good time._' Her finger tapped another message, again from Sarah from the week before.

"_Hey Ashley, it's_ _Sarah_." Williams squinted her eyes. Sarah doesn't call her by first name unless it's something serious. Could it be..._ "Saw you guys on the news, the military is kicking butt right now from what I've heard. Hopefully by the time you get this message you'll be able to respond back. I know you're busy fight'n and whatnot but... Dad passed away yesterday. I'll spare you the details, but...he says he's proud of you and hopes you'll make it back. We all hope you do. [sigh] I don't want to leave this on a somber note so, um, oh! Guess what? I finally got a job! Yeah, you know that place, Ring's Court? Got managers position. Sweet huh? Hehe... I hope you're fine out there. Kick some butt, sis! [End message]"_

Williams sighed deeply. Her chest began to clutch; her heart began to sink into the cold bottomless ocean. She tried to fight the tears that were making its way out. Her shaky breaths quivered in sadness and pain, quietly. She did deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself down but no avail. Her body slouched down to the floor. She wiped the streaming tears away from her eyes and cheeks. Williams looked at the last light of the sun as it set beyond the horizon, and the sky became dark dotted with twinkling stars.

* * *

**AN: It's been a long time since I've updated. Kinda lost interest in this story for a while back then. Writing war scenes can be a bit difficult, but The Pacific miniseries helped me out. May edit this later. But not to worry, I'm back. Btw, I'm officially a HS graduate as of last month going to comm. college this August. Wohoo! I'll see you all later. Cheers. **


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